


the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

by LadyAllana



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Emotions, Established Relationship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurts So Good, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Memory Loss, but Brian forgot it?, but poor Roger seriously didn't deserve this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-13 23:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17497706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAllana/pseuds/LadyAllana
Summary: Brian wakes up to confusion and so, so many feelings. Roger tries to hold it all together and Jim just wants a good night's sleep.orThe Memory Loss trope that I had to write.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am, with the obligatory lame Memory Loss fic every fandom needs.
> 
> I just wanted to add that in my mind, I'm imagining BoRhap cast as I write but you know you are free to imagine whichever angelic Roger you want as you read. Comments are so welcome and I just can't believe I'm back to this Queen craziness again, I thought I was over them in high school... how the times have passed.

 

**the wonder that's keeping the stars apart**

_~Don't you hear my call_  
_Though you're many years away_  
_Don't you hear me calling you~_

 

            He comes around slowly. There is a splitting headache on the other side of consciousness waiting for him to just open his eyes, so it can ensnare him in its grasp and no matter how much he tries to escape it he can’t seem to fall asleep again. A moan of disappointment falls from his throat, but it’s dry and painful, dragging him one step closer to the land of the living. He tries to pull the blankets to cover his face so the duvet can swallow him whole, but he can’t seem to move his arms properly.

 

            Opening his eyes is another problem altogether, everything is just way too bright, and he feels as if he has been blinded by the light. Another moan follows, a prayer for the lights to go away, but it hurts even more than the last, he feels as if he has swollen a bagful of sand.

 

            He is welcomed into the world of the living with a teary gasp that is decidedly not his own because obviously, all liquids have left his throat at this point, which makes him realize…

 

            He is not alone in his room.

 

            In fact, this is not even his room.

 

            Images come all at once. The light in the room still feels like someone is repeatedly stabbing him in the eyes but he realizes that it’s a plainly decorated hospital room with white walls and white sheets. And on those white sheets, in his white shirt and white jeans, sits Roger, who seems to be crying and smiling at the same time.

 

            Not that Brian can see his face properly.

 

            “W…what?”

 

            “Oh thank God, you’re awake! I was so fucking scared.”

 

            Roger’s white face is still very blurry and very much mixed with the white background, but Brian can make out his long blond hair and blue eyes in the mess, not to mention his friend has a voice that would be impossible for him to mix with anyone else’s.

 

            “Rog?”

 

            “Yes, baby, it’s me. You’re OK now.”

 

            He tries to sit up but is unable to, the pounding inside his head is getting stronger and he feels like he can’t breathe because of the sandpaper stuck in his throat.

 

            “W…water.” he manages to get out of the Sahara Desert inside of him, which makes Roger stand up in hurry.

 

            “Yes, yes of course.”

 

            Roger goes and gets some water from the sink on the other side of the room, he can’t see properly but thankfully he can hear the water running, his ears cling to the sound as a dying man would to an oasis as his last hope.

 

            The room is silent besides that and Roger’s heavy breathing anyways, he would have thought Freddie would have barged in complaining about another wasted opportunity by now.

 

            Where are the others?

 

            “Where...-“

 

            A cough erupts from his throat, dry and perhaps a bit bloodier than he would have preferred. Roger forces the plastic cup closer to his mouth, so the callouses on his fingers become the first things that he can properly focus on.

 

            He drinks from the cup like a dying man.

 

            “Where are we?”

 

            “It’s going to be fine Brian, you just rest while I call the doctor now.”

 

            As Roger swiftly exits the room, wiping furious tears off his face as he goes, Brian rests himself against the mechanical looking head of the hospital bed, finally taking a good look around now that he can actually, properly see stuff.

 

            Perhaps he isn’t as well as he thought he was, and they went back touring way too early. He had been dealing with the Hepatitis for so long and had missed so much that it made sense to him to go back to work as soon as possible, which was the moment the pain had become manageable. He missed enough studio time already, it was unfair to them that they had to wait for Brian even more just because he was feeling a bit under the weather. But obviously, it had been too soon as he could only surmise that he has once again let his bandmates down and collapsed somewhere or the other, ending up in the hospital once again.

 

            Well, at least this hospital seems to be much better than the one he was staying at before. The room was much more spacious for one, he was on an upper floor as he couldn’t see much besides the morning sky from the huge spacious windows and there were even fresh flowers by his bedside.

 

            “Mr. May, we are so glad to see you awake.”

 

            The doctor wanders in the room with two interns following him like ducklings. Roger follows them in like a restless puppy, now his mop of blond hair in a messy bun high upon his head. There are huge purple circles under his eyes and he looks paler than Brian had ever seen him. _He must have stayed with Brian all night then._

 

            Roger stays at the back of the room but his restless energy penetrates all over as he waits for the doctors to finish checking Brian, it’s like static electricity, his presence is disturbing the currents in the room, in Brian even, causing a buzzing sensation. Brian thinks he can feel him on his fingertips.

 

            He doesn’t like it, they live for the energy in the air whenever they play but this is biting, it’s scratching his lungs, making him want to break whatever tense bubble the room seems to be in even by the means of the slightest movement of air, as the other people in the room, the doctors Brian doesn’t know or particularly care about, don’t seem to be affected by this weird atmosphere surrounding them.

 

            As one of the interns is checking his blood pressure Brian raises his head and asks Roger,

 

            “So where are the others?”

 

            Roger looks puzzled for a second, he is obviously halfway to falling asleep on his feet even though his hands fidget all over. _He must be high on caffeine,_ Brian thinks, he is used to seeing Roger at all stages between insomnia and alcohol-induced coma, he won’t think about how this time seems to be different, that as much as his friend seems to be concerned about Brian’s well-being, Brian can’t focus on anything but the idea of how Roger is doing at the moment and how to dispel the negative thoughts around him.

“They should be here soon”, Rog promises finally as if it was an unusual request. “In fact, I’ll go and check.”

 

With that he leaves the room, leaving Brian in the same room with a bunch of strangers.

 

He feels like he can breathe again.

 

Think again.

 

 Brian had thought the others would have been in the hospital as well but perhaps he had been here longer than overnight as he had originally thought. That would certainly explain Roger’s bloodshot eyes and different clothing.

“How long has it been?” he asks one of the interns.

 

            With a concerned, knowing gaze it’s the older male doctor who answers.

 

            “You were brought here 4 days ago Mr. May. Everyone has been quite worried. Including the security personnel, I might add. It has been a very tiring couple of days for all involved.”

 

            He says the last part with a chuckle as if Brian is a part of an inside joke he should be aware of.

 

            _Security?_

“But we can finally give your fans the good news, so that those poor girls may finally have some very well-deserved rest.”

           

            Brian wants to ask but two of the interns have their gloved hands around his face now, distracting him.

 

            The doctors check his breathing and then his eyes. It’s only when they start changing the dressing that Brian realizes that he is suffering from a head wound which must have been the result of a nasty fall. He is distinctly aware of the lack of sensation around the area, even though the splitting headache inside continues to rage full on.

 

            Roger comes back into the room silently, like a child trying not to catch the brunt of their parents’ anger after staying out past curfew and sneaking back in. He seems to be struggling with tears once again, resolutely not looking at Brian, not that Brian can blame him head wounds tend to be on the nasty side. Now that he can see him properly Roger seems gaunter, a bit thinner.

 

            Once the doctors leave the room Roger comes to sit by his side again, one pale hand gently touching the dressing covering half his forehead. He has a weird look in his eyes, as if he is not almost there, as if he is trying to distance himself. It doesn’t make sense at all. Brian just hopes that all his hair is still intact.

 

            “Jim said they are about to leave now. I couldn’t reach Deaky but I’m sure he is half-way here already. He was supposed to bring me some clothes today.”

 

            Brian nods along half listening, half lulled to slumber by Roger’s gentle ministrations, now moved to his scalp from the dressing on his forehead. He can barely feel it, but it still feels very comforting somehow.

 

Since it has been so many days it was probably Roger’s turn to stay with him and it made sense that John would come later to bring a change of clothes and maybe take over the vigil from Roger, now thankfully not needed anymore. Brian was an adult man perfectly capable of taking care of himself…as long as he had his wits about him.

 

Which would be hard considering the ruckus Freddie would make when he arrived but Brian thought he would prefer his loud friend over the confused, fragile state Roger seemed to be in now, at least Brian would feel more like himself and not somebody Roger was trying and failing to take care of.

 

And Roger could finally have some rest and hopefully feel more like himself too.

 

            But wait…

 

            _“Who is Jim?”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, I was aiming for fluff when I started this. Sorry in advance :')

 

Roger is just about to start fussing about the room temperature when Brian looks up to him – and isn’t that such a change from their normal state of being, unless of course in the privacy of their bedroom or their living room couch or on one occasion Freddie’s hotel tub, seriously Roger why the fuck does your mind have to there and imagine riding him when the man is lying there for God sake- and asks, “ _Who is Jim?”_

 

            If it were any other person, Roger would think that they were joking.

 

            But surely Brian knows how to read the room, surely he is aware just how exhausted and over jokes Roger is at the moment.

 

            “What did you say, baby?”

 

            Roger’s voice cracks on the last syllable, perhaps from the lack of use or constantly crying for the last couple of days. It’s certainly not the panic that is slowly creeping in and taking a hold of Roger’s whole being.

 

            Something feels wrong.

 

            Brian doesn’t seem to recognize the nickname instead, he slowly untangles Roger’s hand from his curls and repeats his question again, slow and calm unlike the fires starting to rage in Roger’s chest. Roger's hand falls down, lifeless and all Roger can think about at the moment is how Brian would have never ever let his hand go at a moment like this. 

 

            “You said Jim, right? Is he a friend of Freddie’s?”

 

            Jim has been with Freddie for nearly three years.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Ok, sweetie… I brought some clothes, your toothbrushes, a comb for that sparrow's nest and - oh you’re awake!”

 

            Veronica barges into the room, a force of nature as she always is. The first thing Brian notices is the huge teary smile on her face, she always had a blinding smile that’s why John fell for her in the first place. It lights up her whole face, which is, as he notices absentmindedly, makeup-free as it usually is. Her long hair goes all the way down to her chest. She puts the bags down onto Brian’s bed and goes to hug Roger first, who remains unresponsive in her grip other than an arm going protectively around her back. It looks instinctive rather than intentional to Brian, but it’s really not surprising that he has gotten a hang of Roger’s actions by now, having known him the longest out of all of their close friends now.

 

            “John is dealing with the mess outside. He thought it would be better to it himself before Freddie comes and does what Freddie does. Brian doesn’t need that right now.”

 

            She fusses over him a bit, hand going to Roger’s cheek, almost mirroring his previous actions with Brian before she came in.

 

            She seems to be unaware of the desperate, panicked look in Roger’s eyes. Roger hasn’t said a word in the last five minutes, but Brian knows him well enough to know something must be seriously wrong. Is it the scar on his head that is scaring him so? But Roger has never been squeamish when it came to blood and scars. Perhaps he is also coming down with something.

 

 

            Veronica doesn’t notice the look on Rogers face or the way he remains unresponsive as she squeezes him hard and fast once more before turning to Brian, so she can hug him as well.

 

            That’s when Brian notices.

 

            With Roger, he had really thought it had been the exhaustion that made him look so gaunt and different, his hair was too oily to make out any differences in color and it was already in a bun when Brian could see properly but now that he thought about it Roger had just cut his hair before they set out for their British tour.

 

            But with Veronica...there is no mistaking the bump hidden under her green maternity dress.

 

            She is pregnant.

 

            More than halfway there even.

 

            “Ah Brian we were so worried, poor John didn’t know how to worry about you without worrying me, which worried him even more! I thought he would go bald from pulling all his hair out if this went any longer. Thank God you came back to us.”

 

            But Brian can’t face her, eyes firmly focused on her stomach, the first clear and undeniable indication that he is missing something.

 

            Missing something pretty colossal from the looks of it.

 

            Yes, Brian hasn’t been around for a while but surely, he would have known if John was about to become a father.

 

            He gulps and looks up, realizing that Roger is following the trajectory of his eyes, biting his lips so hard that he seems to have broken the skin. When Brian can finally bring himself to look into his eyes, Roger breaks down in tears.

 

            Veronica turns to him in an instant, but she doesn’t seem overly worried. She is probably thinking that the exhaustion has finally caught up with her friend who has spent however many nights worrying about Brian by his bedside.

 

            “Roger...”, Brian tries.

 

            Roger starts to cry harder, hands griping at the foot of the bed, taking a step away from Veronica, probably not to get her in the way of any sudden movement he might make.

 

            John comes through the door just as Veronica is about to ask what is going on.

 

            His hair is closely shaven, there are smiling lines near his eyes that weren’t there yesterday. There, the stupid lazy grin on his face, that Brian knows, that he can latch on to in the middle of this unknown madness.

 

            “They were surprisingly calmer than I would have thought. Some even agreed not to bother Freddie-”

 

            But John stops, looking at his wife and the other two in the room. The grin falls away from his face, turning into a frown that erases the lines around his eyes. He was always able to read the room quickly.

 

            Brian suddenly wishes the time he has missed was just as easy to erase with a bare twitch of muscles. There is no way of denying it now that he has empirical proof, no make-believe scenario that would make more sense the truth that is staring him right in the eye.

 

            “How long?” Brian asks finally, facing Deaky, knowing that Roger is in no condition to have a logical conversation. Brian feels like he can’t be anything but rational right now before the panic sets in and his world goes off its axis for forever.

 

            John, bless him, doesn’t break his composure and start crying like Roger who is hyperventilating in the background or Veronica who is holding her belly with one hand protectively and covering her mouth with the other at the same time.

 

            John approaches him calmly, one hand going on top of his wives on her stomach, where -oh God- their child rests.

 

            “What’s… the last thing you remember?””

 

 “We were in Cardiff… I remember I was in pain, but we had to be on stage soon, so I took a...”

 

There is recognition in John’s eyes as if he is remembering some distant concert that had been particularly memorable compared to the others because Brian managed to get himself into trouble again.

 

            “Five years Brian. That was five years ago.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

        The first thing John does is to take Roger out and give him to Freddie’s arms. Thankfully Freddie is right there in front of the door, just about to come in. It’s quite a shock to him when Roger suddenly comes down on him with all his dead weight and struggling to breathe. Freddie looks as panicked as a deer in the headlights, probably more than halfway convinced that Brian is dead in there but holds Roger up, strong and sure. The firmest boulder to lean on whenever one is needed. A deep grumble is rising from his chest like a lullaby, John thinks that he isn’t even doing it consciously, it’s just in him, this need to take care of the people around him. Freddie tries to match their breathing, so Roger doesn’t completely faint right there as the blonde man tries to hold him even closer, trying to creep in him, to disappear and forget everything.

 

            John turns to Jim who has just caught up with Freddie who came running from the car.

 

            “Get the doctors please...there is something seriously wrong.”

 

            Roger cries even harder, Freddie shushes him, one hand going in his hair. John can see that he is pulling at it hard, grounding Roger to him, so that he can focus on the pain and in turn focus on Freddie’s own breathing.

 

            Freddie pulls Roger’s head to his shoulder firmly once again, watches as his boyfriend goes to call for the doctors. Jim is calmer than all of them almost all the time but especially when the situation is chaotic, and someone needs to keep a calm head. He has had a lot of experience being in the backstage during their concerts or around the recording studio, ready to peel Freddie off Roger whenever the two of them got in a fight over their artistic differences… which to be completely honest about it, happened more than what could be considered healthy for their group dynamic. John is very grateful that Freddie has found him sometimes because he just knows that if he weren’t here Freddie wouldn’t have found the strength in himself to take care of Roger and micromanage the situation like this.

 

            Freddie finally turns his questioning gaze on him, not letting Roger pull his head up from his shoulder, grounding the drummer firmly to his body against Roger’s will.

 

            “Well, it seems that he can’t remember…well, pretty much the last five years.”

 

            Roger whimpers and clings onto Freddie even tighter.

 

From the wet sounds coming from his right side, Freddie will probably have to burn this shirt later on.

 

            “He didn’t know who Jim was...Oh, God… Oh, God...”

 

            Roger is trying to breathe, but the air just won’t go in, he starts coughing and then his feet collapse under him. Freddie is quick to hold him up from the underarms and letting him sit on the bench near Brian’s door.

 

            “Breathe dearie, I’m sure the docs will fix him right up.”

 

            Indeed, a horde of doctors are following Jim down the corridor. Jim comes up to them first and puts a hand on Roger’s shoulder and takes Freddie’s free hand with the other, concerned but actually as calm as John is trying to pretend to be.

 

            “Vee is inside with him, I’m going back too, and you will take care of Roger right, Fred? Keep him calm?”

 

            Freddie hugs Roger tighter to him and John follows the doctors inside.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            As soon as the door closes behind them, Veronica sits down and takes Brian’s arm-the one without various needles stuck in it- between her warm small hands. Brian can vaguely hear Freddie in the corridor, another voice he is instinctively wired to hear and recognize anywhere after performing hundreds of times together.

 

            “Is Roger going to be OK?” He asks Vee when he finally feels strong enough to speak and not crumble into a million pieces. She is growing a new life inside of her, and he is the one she is worrying about. It feels wrong, it feels so wrong. He should be the one worrying around her all the time, walking on eggshells and wrapping her in silks for his friend. The first baby to be born into Queen. John must hate him, he must certainly, for putting his pregnant wife through the stress of this situation.

 

            “Oh sweetie, he is just shocked. He will be fine once we figure out what’s going on.”

 

            They can hear Roger’s cries coming from the outside and somehow it makes Brian want to get up from the bed and go to him, even though he knows that it would be highly inadvisable and that he is too weak for it. Besides, John would absolutely kill him for making Veronica deal with a manic man, trying to stop him from hurting himself even further.

 

            Rational, that’s what Brian is. He can be calm about this situation.

 

            He wants to ask more about Roger, at least to make sure that Freddie will get him a cup and something to eat before they come in and he has to face all of them again.

 

            Veronica’s eyes are searching for something on his face, waiting for him to ask a question that he is desperate to articulate but is unable to find the right words for. She squeezes his hand once she realizes that he won’t be able to.

 

            John comes in with the doctors then, all of them have the same grave serious expression on their faces. In any other reality, this would be a great beginning for a music video, Brian can even hear the chords of an unwritten song ringing in his ears. He isn’t supposed to be this helpless, stuck in a white hospital bed in this white hospital room.

 

            He needs his guitar, in his hands where it belongs.

 

            He was supposed to be on the stage right now.

 

            Except right now was apparently five years ago.

 

            The doctors go through the check-up once again, looking for a symptom they have missed. They need more tests, more time to see what’s wrong they say. There is no need to worry, this is probably just temporary, probably…

 

            Probably.

 

            Sleep is creeping at the edges of his consciousness once again, but it’s not welcome anymore, not when everything is so horribly wrong, not when he hasn’t seen Freddie yet or made sure Roger is actually OK. But turns out Brian can’t control his body any more than he can control his mind, he closes his eyes, wishing this is all a nightmare and things will go back to normal once he wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I'm making Roger suffer so much, I want the world for him, truly I do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and the lovely comments!
> 
> I watched the movie again yesterday, with my dad this time. He is the original fan in the family and he kept pointing out which records and cd's he had way back when -we live in a country Queen never came to before-which is great and all but he lost or gave away all of them besides the Magic cd, which was his favorite.

            They are stuck between two messy desks on the left and on the right, there are bunk beds that remind him of their tour bus. The conversation itself is too delicate for them to have in Brian’s room and Freddie can’t get Roger to the cantina like this, so they have to do it here.  He knows there is no way to anticipate how Roger will react once he snaps out this and his sadness, as it inevitably does ever since Freddie has got to know him in the uni, turns into anger, curses, and outbursts of violence in a desperate attempt to be in control of the situation. And Freddie has never seen him as emotionally distraught as this, for all he knows they are at the edge of an oncoming storm where no coffee machine in the universe will be safe.

 

            Still, Roger manages to sit there silently and listen, most likely because he has no energy left and whatever that is left in him, he is trying to keep upright and pay attention to the doctors. Freddie doesn’t let his hand leave his, knuckles in a gridlock that hurts Freddie’s fingers, as they listen and try to understand what exactly is wrong with Brian.

 

            The doctors assure them that their scans don’t show anything life-threatening and that it’s likely the head trauma that is making Brian forget stuff. Brian is very lucky to have survived with just this. Many a people eventually remember they say, of course, this means that there are many who don’t. But Brian is an exceptionally smart individual, young and healthy so they should have hope.

 

            They also assure them that this shouldn’t hinder his ability to play the guitar or sing on stage as if any of them can give a single fuck about their careers at the moment. It will take some time for him to recover of course, but there is no reason for them not to continue performing eventually, even if Brian can’t remember. The people around seem to be a little bit of starstruck, one of the doctors even expect Freddie to throw a temper tantrum like a diva at the prospect of not being able to perform sometime soon. He is probably excited to get in the news, the sick fuck. Apparently, he is expected to bitch about the biggest concert of their careers in the UK being canceled, canceled until further notice because Freddie just knows that they will find themselves there eventually, it might just take them a bit longer than previously anticipated. The reporters outside expected him to act like a bitch about it too, and though it is the truth that Freddie wanted to rip their pretty little heads off, it was certainly not for the self-serving reasons that they thought but because he had to deal with this shitty prejudice while his friend was seriously injured.

 

            It’s times like this the image he has projected about himself to the world comes to bite him in the ass, he doesn’t even need to imagine the newspaper articles, he has already seen one this morning with the huge headline: _Will Freddie Say Quits This Time?_ Jim took it out of his hands and gave him an egg sandwich instead and told him to chew on it instead of chewing out the press. At least that way he could be helpful to Brian.

 

            Jim always knows the best, Freddie has learned to acknowledge it most of the time.

 

            The doctors leave them to ferment in their misery, saying that Brian is likely to sleep for a while because of the meds in his system and the shock of it all. Freddie hasn’t seen him yet, not today, because he dares not to leave Roger’s side. But John assures him that he seemed calm. Knowing Brian, he is likely to turn inwards and live everything inside. Freddie didn’t expect him to have a breakdown like poor Roger or how he himself might have reacted if something like this has happened to him.

 

            Well, then there might have been temper tantrums involved.

 

            The good thing is, Brian hasn’t forgotten who they are. He knows all of them, including Vee who John is currently trying to drag back home and he knows that he is in a rock band, albeit not nearly as irrelevant as he remembers. The media angle of the things will be a complete shit show, but they can handle it as long as Brian knows them and knows to trust them. In fact, Freddie is determined to deal with it all personally, to be the center of attention like he was meant to be, so he can shield Brian and Roger from what is about to come. Let them come he thinks, they don’t have a fucking clue who Freddie Mercury is yet.

 

            This is the least he can do for his friends.

 

            Jim, who has been standing next to his seat all along, nudges him between the shoulder blades.

 

            “We should take him home.”

 

            Roger gives them no indication that he actually heard or understood what Jim has said. Freddie knows that Roger needs a bath, a good meal and a day’s worth of sleep before he can face the reality, but they can’t just drop the poor guy back to the apartment, where he will be alone.

 

            “I mean back to ours,” adds Jim, seeing the frown on his face.

 

            “Veronica already has his stuff packed up, he can rest there while we keep an eye on him.”

 

            Freddie turns to Roger in the small doctor’s lounge that was provided for them to speak with the doctors in private.

 

            Roger shakes his head negatively; his movements are stilled now, almost as if he lives in slow motion. There is no fight left in him.

 

            “I can’t leave him all alone Fred…”

 

            Freddie looks at Deaky and Vee. Seeing the look on John’s face Veronica punches him on the arm, hard. Veronica’s sister arrived two days ago to be around just in case, Deaky admitted to him earlier, _just in case_ he said. The possibility of Brian never waking up had hung upon the air in between them. Those words had been the hardest to swallow for either man.

 

            “Tell you what; John will stay, and we’ll drop Vee back on the way.”

 

            Roger turns to look at the couple with bloodshot eyes, his hair still a mess from having Freddie’s spider fingers getting tangled in them. His white shirt is all wrinkled, he looks worse than a ghost haunting the halls would right now.

 

            Veronica gives him a reassuring smile and moves to get up. She needs to hold the arm of the chair now.  She reminds Freddie of a furious duckling when she is like this, Freddie has learned to cherish each and every moment of it.

 

            Jim sends some kind of a sign or the other over their heads and John deflates. He is just as aware that they can’t leave Roger alone, even with Jim and that the best person to handle him now is Freddie. Though Roger would trust the John with his life, with Brian’s life even, John isn’t as well equipped – i.e. not stubborn enough- to deal with Roger and in all honesty, he would be a better caretaker than Freddie anyways. Jim can go around to help as needed, he has already taken the day off and it’s already getting closer to the evening.

 

            “I will bring you back as soon as he is up, no matter what time that is. We promise Roggie.”

 

            “Yes, I will call the second he wakes up again.”

 

            Roger sniffs, their hands are sweaty and clammy, but he is still holding onto Freddie like a lifeline. Freddie thinks that he can spend a lifetime trying to forget this last week, but he will still have the dent marks of Roger’s nails on his hands reminding him until the day he dies.

 

            “Idiot...” he mumbles, voice rough.

 

            Freddie gives a small chuckle at that, hauling Roger up by a numb hand.

 

            “Let’s go.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            He and Jim have to smuggle Roger away, hidden under Jim’s huge leather jacket that looks like it could swallow Roger whole. The hospital is swapped by paparazzi, backdoors included. Freddie doesn’t care about how they see or label him at the moment, he can curse and fight his way out, but he can’t let Roger be pictured like this. His friend always looks angelic in any concert photo, handsome not just because of his looks but beautiful because of all that he holds inside. If this day is the one that haunts them forever, they won’t need the photographic evidence of it to add on to their pain. Freddie is determined to get him to the shower, give him a hot cup of tea and braid his hair before doing anything else.

 

            It was the first thing he did back then too, gone into the shower with him to wash the blood and the gunk away since Roger had been shivering too hard to do so by himself. It’s heartbreaking that he might have to do it twice in the same week, in the same lifetime but Brian is alive, and he has to remember that, hold on to that.

 

            He needs to take care of Roger.

 

            Roger is calm in the car ride back home and doesn’t get out when they drop Veronica off. He doesn’t talk when Jim drops them off and goes to the market before it closes to buy some groceries, he silently follows Freddie to the upstairs guest bathroom, adjacent to the room they use whenever they are having a late night here.

 

            Freddie gets him some towels and some of the clothes he got from the bag Vee had packed, making sure the water is warm and Roger is under it before going down to the kitchen to fix some stuff for tea.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            “Deaky?”

 

            Well, at least this time waking up is a bit easier. Everything is hazy because of the drugs they are pumping through his system and the painful screams ringing in his head have left their place to a steady buzzing sound.

 

            “Oh, Brian, mate… you’re awake.”

 

Brian lets himself sag on the bed once he hears his friend's comforting voice. There is some silent shuffling on his right side, it still sounds undeniably like John, John whose mannerisms have at least remained somewhat the same over the years. The first thing he thinks is that they have finally got Roger out of the hospital. Freddie probably dragged him away, leaving John to stay with him through the night.

 

 Brian nods an affirmative, albeit a bit late, hoping that John can see him.

 

            “Let me just call Freddie to tell…”

 

            He looks around, the room is pitch black besides the light John must have been using to read the thick book on the table near the window. He must have slept for some time now.

 

            “No, let them sleep.”

 

            John looks unsure, but Brian gives him a soft smile, trying to be encouraging and persuasive at the same time. Having looked up to Brian as an older brother for so many years, John should be able to recognize when Brian is sure of his decisions and when he is gently asking to be refuted. It’s actually something he trusts John with, whenever he is unsure about a song that Freddie seems overly excited about.

 

            So, John agrees to call the nurse on duty alone, who in turn brings in a doctor to check up on him. John sits silently with his book as the doctor looks over various things, like the bruises on his chest – he learns that he has some cracked ribs- and the various scraps on his arms and hands. Though no one seems worried about them Brian makes sure to bend his fingers every which way possible to make sure there is nothing wrong with them discreetly, thankfully he can see that nothing is broken before the fear of not being able to play his guitar again properly sets in. John seems to be focused on his paperback through this, but he never changes the page.

 

            Brian is grateful for his discretion. He will also ask him for his guitar when the morning comes, just to make sure. He isn’t even sure they are playing professionally anymore, if Queen still exists or if he is teaching somewhere. He thinks that they are still performing together as all of them were here earlier, but he won’t ask yet just in case if his hunch is not true and they have come here after years of being apart just to make sure Brian doesn’t die on them.

 

            Brian is looking for a way to ask, he is stuck between the fear of the unknown and the undying curiosity that had gripped him ever since he was a child looking at the stars. How funny it is, this man who has yearned for the secret of the stars now has to face secrets to his own life. And how afraid he is of the unknown, that had always seemed so exciting to him as a foreign concept.

 

            He settles for a simple question finally. Once John comes and sits by his bedside and pulls up the blanket covering Brian’s legs up a bit to make sure he doesn’t catch the slight chill of the night air, Brian turns to him. He imagines the cringe on John’s face is because of the black eye he is currently supporting and the various scraps on his face that have half healed while he was sleeping on this bed.

 

            “What happened?”

 

            The answer should be easy, it would have been easy and direct had Brian been able to remember who he was and what he was doing when this happened to him. But he is currently living with an apparent five-year gap in his brain so what John is about to tell him isn’t likely to make much sense, if at all.

 

            “It was very sudden. Some stage equipment fell on you. Freddie and I were backstage…so were the rest, I think. Roger saw it all though…”

 

            John stops, realizing there is a lot in what he has just said to unpack.

 

            First of all, there is instant relief in the confirmation that they are still playing, together, after all those years and at least one seemingly very happy marriage. Then, there is the pity… no the worry for Roger that blooms somewhere deep inside his stomach, among other feelings he can’t quite name. John hasn’t said much but he didn’t need to, the trauma of the scene Roger saw haunted him, Brian could tell that the moment his larger than life started crying the moment they made eye contact. Roger might even blame himself for not stopping from the accident happening, Brian decides he needs to talk some sense into him the first thing in the morning, even if the blonde is back to his lively and chipper self.

 

            “They had to get a heli to get you out of Wembley Brian, it was touch and go for a while there.”

 

            He may not remember what has happened yet, but he has no intention of giving his friend any more reasons to suffer than they already seem to have. Freak accidents happen, he will be fine, surely. In the morning he will see Freddie and Roger, he will do his best to assure them that Queen is going to be just fine if they let him.

 

            Brian can fix this.

 

            He will make sure that he remembers, and everything will be just fine so that they will play again and Roger won’t look so haunted anymore. They will even get to play in…

 

            “Did you say Wembley? As in the stadium?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was running a bit long so I cut it to give myself some breathing room to work with, please don't be mad at me! Once again thank you so much for your support of this story, which is so far not really living up to the expectations of fluff that I had promised.

Roger is completely disoriented when he wakes up to the scent of eggs and bacon coming from Freddie and Jim’s lavish kitchen. The smell of it is so awful that it causes him to empty the contents of his stomach to the nearest thing he can find. thankfully Freddie has looked after him after enough drunken escapades during their younger days that he knows to leave a wash basin by Roger’s bedside. Jim’s healthy cooking and eating habits are a new addition to his household since then, enough to churn his stomach combined with exhaustion that he throws his guts up without the help of vodka.

 

            Two green eyes watch him condescendingly on the orange oriental duvet, Freddie’s spawn not bothering to get up from where it has made its nest last night near Roger’s feet.

 

            “Ah Delilah, there you are.”

 

            Freddie comes in with flourish, wearing a pale pink kimono and his mustache neatly combed, with a bowl of cat food in his hands. The cat in the question looks up, deeming the smell of the thing in the metallic bowl good enough, goes to her owner with a perfect imitation of his majestic steps.

 

            “Good morning dear,” says Freddie once Delilah starts eating, both the cat and the owner seem unfazed by Roger’s current state then again, he is sure that these rooms have witnessed many a wilder scene that Freddie’s cats too have seen in one occasion or the other. “Wash your mouth and eat something so we can get going. Brian is up and at it already,”

 

            “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

 

            His voice is too hoarse for shouting and his throat hurts like a son of a bitch, the sad part is Freddie doesn’t even look surprised by his outburst. He is itching to break stuff, to smoke, most importantly he is itching to see Brian and hold him and be held by him so he can calm down a bit, so the storm will settle a little and Roger will finally get to see straight again. But even if he runs to Brian now, he knows that Brian’s arms will not open to welcome him. Of course, Brian thinks that they are friends but that’s all he knows. Can Roger tell him? Will Brian feel the same if he tells him? Did Brian feel the same way Roger did, pining after him for years before Brian got the courage to ask him out.

 

            What will happen to them now? Now that Brian is finally awake. He is awake, Roger is not dreaming it. So many times these last couple of weeks he woke up, terrified of the possibility that Brian might have slipped away from his fingers during the time he closed his eyes.

 

            Roger gulps, he needs to see Brian.

 

            “None sense, you needed your beauty sleep. You don’t look nearly half as attractive when you are pale as the ghost of Christmas past.”

 

            Roger swallows the bile in his throat, finally pushing the basin away and sitting up properly. He doesn’t need to look pretty anyways, not when Brian can’t remember...

 

 

* * *

 

 

            At the breakfast table, which is the granite counter in the kitchen Jim has set up for two, eating on the stove, even though they have a huge dining room with an old ok table that no one uses; Freddie comes up behind him, one hand closed, palm up. He is hesitant to say something and looks at Jim to find the right words for perhaps the thousandth time since this nightmare has begun. When he opens it, there is a long plain golden chain in his hand.  Roger looks at the offending item and then the two men, who seem to be having a silent conversation between them.

 

            When Roger doesn’t pick it up from Freddie’s hand, patient, Jim takes out a similar but wider chain from his the too big shirt that he probably threw on on the account of Roger being here, there hidden from the world for all to see lies a ring close to his heart.

 

            A small “Oh...” falls from his throat.

 

            Roger looks at the wedding band on his finger, golden and gleaming under the yellow light. He gulps, _of course_.

 

            “We didn’t know if you wanted to tell him right away. His is still at the hospital among his belongings so he didn’t wake up with a ring on his finger.”

 

            _Brian doesn’t know._ Did John tell him? How is Roger going to tell him if he hasn’t? How dare Freddie put his nose into their business?

 

            Roger wants to scream at Freddie, asking _what would he know_. He has never seen Freddie with a ring like the one Jim carries, not on his finger or on a chain like the one Jim is wearing his, he would have noticed since Freddie went around shirtless most of the time anyway.

 

            A part of him knows that Freddie does it to protect Jim from the press, that he would whenever they decided they were ready to take that final plunge and that it was a topic that had been voiced out between them, given that they had talked even about Roger’s own ring. Roger has no right to attack them this way, he can’t lash out to the men who have opened their home to him.

 

            When are they going to go and see Brian anyway?

 

            Roger looks at the offending item again, if he imagines it hard enough, he can see it melting in Freddie’s hand burning the skin underneath with it. The right thing to do, of course, would be to break this to Brian gently. He has come to fall in love with Roger, there is a huge possibility – and if he asked Freddie he would say, _what are you bullshitting about dearie, it’s a certainty_ -, but can he really put the burden of their relationship on Brian’s shoulders now when he has so much to deal with already?

 

            As it is most of the time, Freddie knows how Roger is going to act even before he decides for it himself.

 

            He tentatively takes the band off, it comes off easy and he almost starts crying again because it seems like a sign of something high and meaningful and not the result of losing weight so quickly.

 

            Freddie quickly puts it on the chain and secures it around Roger’s neck, his hair out of the way in the fishnet braid Freddie had put it on some hours ago.

 

            “Can we go now?”

 

            “Finish your toast first.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            John calls them to say that maybe bringing Brian a guitar is a good idea. Obviously, they can’t bring the lady to the hospital where many poor souls are trying to rest and get better, but they can bring in a trusted acoustic which he can fiddle with a bit to pass some time. Brian always found some inner peace when composing or solving complex equations. The equations might be too heavy for a while though, or so Freddie thinks, it’s a good idea to stop by the studio - no matter how impatient Roger is getting at home- and grab a guitar from there to bring to Brian.

 

            They are halfway to their trusted London inn, one they don’t really use to record but to compose mostly. It has one of Freddie’s first pianos, a trusted but a bit rusty drum set that Roger can’t bear to part with, along with his precious maracas. And of course, it houses many of Brian and John and even Roger’s guitars, even though they don’t usually use them during tours and prefer the ones that have been tested and trusted, especially the Red Special. Still, Brian has maybe a dozen there, collected over the years and at least some of them must feel familiar.

 

            It’s not until they stop at a red light and the radio changes to the weather cast that Roger even acknowledges their presence in the car. He is sitting in the front seat, he turns to Jim who is driving and puts a hand on his right arm.  

 

            “Turn around.”

 

            Freddie leans forward from the backseat,

 

            “Did you forget something, dear?”

   

            “Jim turn around.”

 

            Jim gives Roger a small smile, not at all offended by being treated as their personal chauffeur.

 

            “Whatever you need, mate.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

            The apartment is silent when they arrive, it’s a bit after morning so only the old lady next door can be heard, the sound of the classical music that Freddie so adores coming up from the kitchen window she leaves open whenever she is cooking.  The lights are turned off, everything seems relatively tidy and clean, which was probably Veronica’s doing as she and John stopped by yesterday to grab some necessities after Veronica finally protested to Roger wearing the same backup concert outfits Freddie had forced him in earlier this week.

 

            Roger goes in first, hands lingering over the keys Brian had left in the threshold. There is a miniature metallic red guitar on the chain, accompanied by a funky looking Einstein Roger and Freddie had gifted him to his for his birthday years ago, back when they were busy stealing and selling every kind of junk together at Kensington. Freddie remembers how sad Roger had been even back then when they didn’t even have the money to cover the rent let alone throw Brian a party or buy presents. In the end they had spent the night drinking the cheapest beer they could find in Freddie and Roger’s rundown apartment, composing a song so silly that could never make it to their album and they had given this little trinket they found in some backstreet corner to him as a present along with two guitar picks he had tried to use for some months afterward. Brian always chose some coins over the plastic though, saying that the sound never felt right otherwise. It warmed Freddie’s heart to see that Brian kept the keychain.

 

            Jim and he stop when they reach the living room and let Roger go in to look for whatever he is looking for by himself. One of the windows is cracked open from the top, which is probably Veronica again, though she hasn’t touched the mess the table was left in before they had left the flat for the concert. A couple of books and an open notebook is sprawled carelessly on it, along with a couple of pencils and a single stick of Roger’s on the right-side corner. The ashtray in the middle has been emptied but a half-empty packet is next to it along with the lighter. Freddie can read Brian’s messy writing on the notebook and there are some lyrics on a crumbled piece of paper written by Roger’s much more legible scrawl with a chewed-out gum stuck on it, looking solid and blue and completely out of place.

 

            Roger shuffles out of the bedroom after a good ten tense minutes later, there are tear tracks on his cheeks and his eyes look red, but he isn’t openly crying anymore, which Freddie counts as an improvement.

 

            He has changed from Brian’s sweater that Freddie helped him put on last night to one of his flashier shirts, it’s dark red, three top buttons open. There are some rings on his fingers and a golden bracelet Brian gave to him for an anniversary some years ago, a heavy chain that would look somewhat tack on anyone else, but that Roger absolutely adores, having worn it to various galas and parties since then.

 

            It’s a battle armor, Freddie notes, there is bile in his throat that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. Roger has decided that he doesn’t want to be seen vulnerable in front of Brian, the one person he has always felt comfortable being vulnerable around. He is going to go to the hospital as if he going to a battlefield or a stadium with a hundred thousand people expecting him to put up the perfect spectacle.

 

            His hair is also free of the braid and down his shoulders once again, now looking much better thanks to the many products Jim has over their place that Freddie tried to use on him to make him relax.

 

            In one hand, he holds an old acoustic.

 

            Freddie doesn’t judge or wonder why it was in the bedroom of all places, having slept under a piano with poor Mary for years before she finally made him get a proper bed, reminding him that they were getting too old to lay on the ground like a couple of naughty adventurous children and that his back couldn’t take it for much longer.

 

            Freddie has known this guitar for almost as long as that beloved instrument, back when Brian used to play it during the acoustic portions of Smile’s sets and Freddie followed them around, hoping to get Tim’s stop as their vocal one day. It had never made it to their own gigs as far as he can remember, but he has seen it a handful of times since then and all of them in the drummer’s hands when he was composing a song or fixing some chord or the other. Roger has an old keyboard of Freddie’s from a tour in this apartment as well, given that he plays all kinds of instruments but refuses to be recognized as a professional on anything other than his beloved percussions and tells them that he refuses to pay good money for them. They all indulge him knowing that Roger has this tendency to collect things, giving memories more value than the worth or even sometimes the sound of the instruments he plays. It’s not like they can interfere or object, with him never bringing those to the studio. Even the few times he has done the second guitars to Brian, he had made sure to use one of those Brian had kept in the studio, Freddie remembers.

 

            He is pretty sure that even though Brian paid for it once, this acoustic is almost certainly considered to be Roger’s now if it had not been that way ever since those very early days. It is obviously dear to one or maybe the two of them that they keep it in the bedroom. The sexy, intimate details of it, he doesn’t really want to know, but it breaks his heart. The fact that Brian won’t be able to get its significance breaks it more.

 

            “Let’s get moving, Fred.”

 

* * *

 

           

            The morning seems to be brighter, not just because of the sun because they are in London and Brian really wasn’t expecting clear skies, but because he seems to be coming in terms with his situation. He doesn’t know if it will last and it’s probably because he is still somewhat sedated, but it all feels calm and collected. The doctors have come to change his bandages earlier, they seem optimistic that Brian can leave in a couple of days as all of his tests seem to be clear.

 

            Brian gets to get out of the bed with John’s help and they even get to eat some breakfast on the table, it’s tasteless hospital food but the conversation is nice and John is smiling in that peaceful goofy way of his. He is a bit older and seems a bit wiser, but when he gets into the conversation, that excited childish mumbling is still there.

 

            “Vee must be missing you already,” Brian mentions, he is playing with the beans on his plate. Instead of having breakfast at home with his pregnant wife, he has to hang around here until the others come. Thankfully, he has learned that the ill-fated Wembley was the last stop of their European tour and that John is back home for good for the foreseeable future. Since they had to take a break in their touring schedule for the baby’s birth, at least this injury seems to have somewhat good timing. Hopefully, Brian will be good enough to record whatever songs the others have composed in the meantime, so their album won’t lack like the time it did when Brian was laid down in the hospital last, battling with hepatitis.

 

            “Oh, she has her hands full with the boys.” John laughs. There is a brief moment where his cheerful voice rings in the stale hospital air alone, then realizing the shocked expression on Brian’s face, he quickly pulls out his wallet from his back pocket.

 

            “You don’t really remember them but I’m sure they will love Uncle Bri all the same. This is Michael and the little one is Joshua…”

 

            “Wow, you certainly…”

 

            “It was a bit fast, I know. But good for them to be close in age, right?”

 

            Brian looks at the picture of the toddler and the chubby-cheeked baby and wishes he could feel something towards them. They look absolutely adorable and surely, he must have seen them before if they are touring together still, if Veronica could go into his house and get him some clothes. But he felt nothing. There was no recollection, not a warm feeling blooming in his chest other than the one he got whenever he saw a cute child or an animal. Mostly the photos made Brian want to ask if there was anyone in _his_ life, anyone special, enough to worth mentioning. But that was probably in vain, if he was with someone they would have been here already.

 

            Just then, a knock on the door knocked him out of his musings.

 

            “Come in.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been asked if I have a specific timeline for this fic, which I do not. You can read it as a modern AU if you want, if not, Veronica is pregnant with Laura which puts this fic roughly somewhere in 79. 
> 
> Also, I might have discovered a hair kink....sorry for the long descriptions if that's not your thing.

 

 

            Roger comes in first and Brian notes that he looks a bit more like himself immediately. His hair has been washed and indeed it is longer than it had been the time Brian saw it last. It looks like Roger is bleaching it again.

 

            He looks tired but well, there is no other word for it but… beautiful. Brian hasn’t gone down that particular train of thought willingly in years, not since their first days in Smile, unless he was drunk or dying. It’s funny how it creeps back out again, now that he has had a bit of a time to settle and come to terms with his current situation. This is a particularly good excuse as to why he isn’t able to control his thoughts properly, he supposes, but in the end, it’s just five more years of being too late to think them. Which makes it what? 12 years’ worth of lost chances? If he had been thinking that it was too late five years ago… God Roger might be a father like John now.

 

            And what a useless train of thought this always is, doing nothing but leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Brian has to get a hold of himself before he can talk to Roger about the accident, not that he is interested in the details of it but to make sure Roger isn’t feeling any misplaced guilt.

 

            Brian takes a breath and decides to take all of this in, it is, after all, a perfectly justifiable reason to ogle Roger like this and then he will forbid himself from feeling like this forever, he is sure he has managed to do it in the last five years anyway.

 

            Roger looks up with a tentative smile as he puts some stuff by the door, lithe and small limbs covered in expensive clothing he has always dreamt of wearing but was hardly able to years ago. He is also holding a guitar, which puts a huge smile on Brian’s face and allows his focus to shift from the man to the instrument. Upon closer inspection, Brian realizes it’s one of the old ones Roger had stolen from him well, a decade ago now. He must have brought it from home.

 

            Roger approaches them, heels of his boots clicking on the floor, head held high, giving a nod to John and putting the guitar on Brian’s bed. John gets up to hug him quickly.

 

            “Good to see you’re doing better, mate.”

 

            Just as Roger is about to say something, Freddie literally comes stumbling in, “Oh, Bri you are up!”

 

            He suddenly finds himself surrounded by his friend’s familiar scent, Freddie almost knocking him down where he is sitting. If Brian has to choose, he would probably say Freddie is the one who changed the most but also, he seems to be the only one who remained exactly the same. His long hair is replaced by a close-cut Brian would never imagine him to go for and he has a huge mustache in the middle of his face which feels weird to look at but looks just so right. But unlike John who seems to have grown up in fatherhood and Roger who looks a lot gaunter and more tamed than the man Brian knew him as, Freddie’s eyes look at him exactly the same. Like he is _Brian_ and that is perfectly enough.

 

            “How are you feeling? Have you eaten yet? Roger brought the guitar you asked for…” Freddie rambles on excitedly, not asking _do you remember yet_ because John has called them earlier and it’s unlikely that Brian’s status has changed in the hour that has passed since then. Another man follows his bandmates and closes the door behind him carefully, staying close to the wall and watching as Freddie practically sits on Brian’s lap.

 

            Giving a fond smile over Freddie’s head Brian calls out to him.

 

            “You must be Jim.”

 

            Jim nods, he looks a bit sorry for Brian to have to deal with Freddie when he is as excited as a puppy in a park. Though that would be true in many circumstances, he feels genuinely warm and well cared for. Freddie can be over the top sometimes, they love him because of and inspire of that depending on the situation.

 

            “You can let go now Fred, I’m quite alright at the moment. Thanks for your concern.”

 

            Freddie gets up with a sheepish smile, eyes going between Roger and Jim, the motion of it fast enough to make Brian’s still fragile head go all dizzy.

 

            “Here you go Bri!”

 

            Roger has a sunny smile on his face as he gives him the guitar, the strap has been changed to something with crowns on it instead of the old blue one Brian used to play with but the weight and feel of it is the same in his hands after not seeing it for so long. Brian puts his fingers on the strings, playing the first notes of _Funny How Love Is,_ his eyes are still on Roger’s face as the sunny smile changes like a theatre mask from Thalia to Melpomene, but just as quickly Roger pulls himself together.

 

            “Well, rest assured you have lost nothing of your talent when you got crusher under!”

 

            Freddie gives a shrill laugh to dispel the tension, one every single man in the room including Brian feels obligated to join in but falls flat.

 

            “C’mon mate, you might as well play the rest just to make sure.”

 

            The rest of the hour goes on with Brian playing with the melodies he knows by heart, just to make sure he can actually play them. The others harmonize too, Roger has found two pens to beat along on the corner of the bed, for example, there is a soft smile on his face that makes Brian go for the love ballads. The tension around his blue eyes seems to lessen with the light melody, though he looks sadder somehow. Of course, he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to go to the heavy stuff, first it would be hard with an acoustic and second, he is up and about with the help of painkillers and this is already playing with fire. Freddie is told multiple times to keep his voice down and warned that people outside will appreciate it as long as he doesn’t try and wake up the coma patients.

 

            One of the nurses, a pretty redhead in her twenties asks Roger for his number when he steps out for a smoke, looking shy but actually quite bold for trying as she is literally asking a rock star. Brian watches it through the open door, as he is being helped to the loo by a fretting Freddie like a three-year-old. Roger smiles at her, a thousand watts shining through perfect teeth.

 

            The other nurses are giggling in the background.

 

            “You know I’m taken, sweetheart.”

 

            He gives her his signature anyways. Signing the album she is holding with a long drawl, lip caught under his teeth, looking quite shy all of a sudden. So, Brian was right in thinking Roger has finally found someone, someone permanent, having outgrown his habits of living fast and loose.

 

            How Brian had hoped for those days to come, how he dreads them now.

 

            Freddie is tugging him along impatiently, he wouldn’t be this coddled if his mother had come down to London for help. He is frozen in this spot though, surely this is the pain of his ribs that he is feeling? He is due soon for another painkiller anyway.

 

            “Come.” Freddie tugs him towards the bathroom door, thus closer to Roger. Roger turns to look at them, eyes catching Brian’s, the smile falling off his face immediately upon seeing Brian’s ashen face. How bad must he look that Roger suddenly looks so concerned? Roger takes a step towards them, perhaps to make sure Brian doesn’t faint and fall on Freddie unexpectedly, but Brian quickly hurries over to the bathroom with Freddie, leaving Roger standing there.

 

            “Fuck”, he hears Roger curse softly before Freddie shuts the door.

 

            Freddie gives a short sigh and goes to help with the string on Brian’s pajama pants and Brian’s poor mind is suddenly too busy with trying to swat his hands away.

 

           

* * *

 

 

 

            When Brian tells him that he would like to talk to Roger for a minute before they leave, Freddie’s boyfriend is due to come and pick them up soon he is told, Freddie takes the guitar and one of the chairs to the other side of the room, trying out some new melody with soft-spoken la la la’s. Brian is annoyed that he won’t leave the room but to be honest, he can’t exactly go outside without being bombarded with questions and requests and also because why would he need to step outside when his bandmates are having a conversation?

 

            Brian is sitting up on the bed, legs under the covers once again. The new dose of painkillers is just kicking off so that he will be asleep and healing as soon as his mates are off for the day. Still, it might have been better to kick Freddie and John earlier in the day to speak with Roger, but Brian couldn’t figure out a way how.

 

            Roger of course, agrees when Brian says he wants to talk, he sits near Brian on the bed, one hand idly playing with the patterns on the blanket. Blond hair falling in front of him, Brian wishes to lean in and push it behind his ear, so he can see Roger’s eyes properly.

 

            It is very likely that having this conversation high on narcotics is a bad, bad idea because he keeps getting distracted.

 

            “I just wanted to make sure you’re feeling OK,” Brian says eventually. “John told me you were there when it happened and, I just don’t want to you to blame yourself in any way.”

 

            Roger is guarded as he considers these words, one hand still occupied with the blanket. His hands are bruised as they always are, two of the knuckles barely healed from being split open, callouses all over. There is a golden chain that makes his wrist look small and delicate in comparison, his presence feels so small and yet so big on the bed with Brian that it makes Brian want to get away from him a bit, to compose himself.

 

            As if he has senses Brian’s discomfort Roger scoots back a bit.

 

            “I thought you were dead,” he whispers finally, “there was just so much blood… And I know head wounds bleed like that I do, but you were just lying there and it didn’t look like you were breathing, I-“

 

            Roger’s hand is clutching the blanket now, the golden chain too stuck in his fierce grip. Brian opens up his fingers one by one, puts his hand upon Roger’s to stop it from shaking.

 

            “I’m here Rog, I’m alive. You can let it go now.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Jim catches up with them in the afternoon, and by that time John has already left for home. He brings some soup for Brian from a lovely place near his shop, as it is polite and hospital food seriously sucks ass. He doesn’t stay long though, the doctors and Brian both agree that he can spend the night alone – and maybe finally get the rest he needs, the doctor says behind huge glasses, obviously not happy with the impromptu concert session in his halls-. Jim always feels the rush of the first time whenever he sees them perform, which is quite a lot even though he doesn’t follow them on tour most of the time, but as he knows the sheer power of Freddie’s voice without a microphone, it’s not hard to guess that they would have been in deep trouble had they not been a famous rock band, making sure that their genius guitarist’s cognitive skills were intact after a major head injury.

 

            Freddie gives him a long wet kiss on the lips to welcome him, taking his gum while at it, he looks happy but somber at the same time. It must feel weird to go over a setlist they have left the majority of behind years ago. Still, his cheeks are flushed as they are whenever he is given a chance to perform, he radiates a healthy glow that looks wrong in a hospital.

 

            “Miami is going to be joining us for dinner,” he says, hands on the collar of Jim’s shirt as he reaches up to smooth it, he wipes a stray hair off.

 

            Jim laughs, eyes following Roger who is saying talking to Brian in hushed tones. Body language guarded, keeping himself out of arm’s reach in purpose.

 

            “As long as he brings it himself, I’m all for it.”

           

            The ride home is silent, too silent if anything that Jim puts the classical channel on. Freddie doesn’t hum along and Roger isn’t keeping up with the beat, everything deeply unsettling. Once at their place, Jim goes up to the bedroom to wash off the grime off the day and Freddie goes to check up on the cats, leaving Roger by himself.

 

            By the time Jim takes a shower to freshen up and comes back to the living room to bring some plates on the tea table in front of the couch, Roger is already half sprawled over Freddie’s grand piano with a vodka bottle. His hands go over the keys in a very unprofessional manner, producing harsh and pained sounds as he chugs along, dry. If Jim had never seen him play the keyboards in the studio, he would have thought Roger is perched on there just for the dramatic effect but to think about if Jim is pretty sure he has never seen him out of tune before.

 

            “Want to slow down a bit there, Rog? Dinner is about to arrive, I reckon.”

 

            “Fuck dinner.” Roger mumbles, complete with a flat G.

 

            Freddie comes downstairs with a trash bag full of cat litter, Romeo trailing behind him lazily. He opens the front door to Jim Beach, who is standing there with hands full of Chinese takeout.  Freddie takes the food from his hands and gives him well… shit for it. “Put this to the trash will you.” He nudges Romeo along with his foot, so the grumpy cat gets away from the door and comes and curls in the middle of the big red couch.

 

            Their manager, by now used to Freddie’s antics, indulges him and puts the thrash away before taking his shoes off and coming in, not blinking an eye to Roger who has surpassed miserable and moved on to drunken fool by now.

 

            “He will feel better once we get some rice in him.”

 

            Jim starts taking the food out of the containers while Freddie drags Roger up and along, trying to pick Romeo up so he doesn’t bother them while eating. Romeo grunts and tries to scratch his hand then goes to snuggle near Roger’s ass. Jim takes the bottle away from him and instead gives him some vegetable rice with a spoon.

 

            Freddie takes some sweet and sour chicken and curls next to the drunk and the cat, his legs under him and his morning kimono back on. Jim sighs and motions for the manager to take the armchair then brings the empty piano stool near the table so he can sit on it. They eat in silence for the next couple of minutes in which Jim forcefully passes some broccoli to Freddie, who stabs them with chopsticks and forces them down Roger’s throat. Jim knows that Brian feeds Roger more greens than he manages to give Freddie in a year and while Roger can use them now, Freddie will be in for a long month of salads and cabbages if he keeps feeding his own greens to the poor man. The tired looking manager puts his plate down at last, then gets rid of his tie as well before speaking.

 

            “I think it’s time we put the rumors to rest, have a press conference.”

 

            Roger giggles, some rice fall of his mouth, “He is in no condition to press anything.”

 

            Miami, as Freddie so affectionately calls him, nods.

 

            “I didn’t think so. You, however, can clean up the air for him. It would be good to have the crying fangirls out of our doorsteps and we can finally put an end to the stupid rumors. “

 

            “Darling,” Freddie drawls, “the rumor wheel will never stop.”

 

            “Well, it can rest for a while then.”

 

            Freddie puts the plate down and straightens his spine, “Then I will do it.”

 

            “I think it would be more believable coming from Roger, given the circumstances. Of course, you and John will be with him throughout, as will the surgeons. Then, maybe in a week’s time, Brian will speak, privately of course, to a reporter of our choosing and all will be well.”

 

            “Well? Well?! Fuck off Jim, fuck the hell out of here!”

 

            Jim startles for a second, as anyone would hearing his name cursed, then offers a smile – and sometimes it feels like that’s all he has been doing ever since Freddie came into his life and pulled the rug under his feet, refusing to give up until Jim all but surrendered his heart and soul to him- to the other Jim in the room. “It’s our fault, we forgot to lock the liquor cabinet.”

 

            “I’m quite used to this, unfortunately. He used to lock himself into cupboards to get his word across. We’re lucky he is not that bendy anymore.” Roger goes back to his rice with a scowl, knowing that Miami is right but too tired and drunk on misery to deal with it.

 

            “Am too.”

 

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not very happy with this chapter, it might be edited later on :/


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

            The fact that Brian’s stitches are so close to his hairline makes washing his hair a difficult feat. He is allowed a shower with a waterproof bonnet and some further wrapping to secure his bandages, but the doctors are unwilling to let him try and wash his own hair, which has become matted after just being wiped clean for a week now, sitting quite stuck to his head instead of the lion’s mane it usually is.

 

            Jim looks at Brian from where he is perched on the corner, which has quickly become his designated place when he comes to visit, mostly to drive Freddie and make sure he doesn’t do anything rash that he might regret later. It’s a bit like babysitting if you think about it, but his precious boyfriend needs a little protection sometimes.

 

            “I can do it if you want,” he shrugs.

 

            “Oh yes! He is a hairdresser Brian, I’m sure he is quite used to it.”

 

            Jim doesn’t regularly get people with head wounds in his shop, but it is true that he has had some experience.

 

            “If it won’t be too much trouble…”

 

            “None sense. You have better hair than most of my clients anyway. It would be my pleasure.”

 

            So, they take one of the metal chairs to the cramped bathroom, where Jim has to bend Brian and his own body in unsavory ways to make sure Brian’s hair gets a thorough wash. Jim makes sure that Brian is topless -though you could hardly say that how wrapped up like a mummy he still is- and he also gets rid of his shirt because while they can get Brian a new pair of PJs, he has brought no spare clothes for himself. Seeing how they look cramped together in the bathroom with Jim only wearing a white undershirt Freddie whistles,

 

            _“Oh, you gonna take me home tonight…_

_Gonna let it all hang out…”_  

 

Fred changes the melody on the last note, so it’s low as a wolfs sneer and all the more predatory for it.  It is followed by a very amused chuckle, that’s his boyfriend, the old goof.

 

            “Oh shut it!” Jim laughs, he is half wet already, and he hasn’t even started shampooing Brian’s hair. He shuts the door on Freddie’s laughter.

 

            Brian’s shoulders are tense when he returns to his. Contemplative, searching for the obvious answer, “Was that…one of ours?”

 

            Jim hums, thinking the best way to answer.

 

            “One of yours actually.” He keeps his voice calm, continues humming the song as he massages the shampoo into Brian’s curls, secretly hoping that the melody will spark something.

 

            Brian shrugs, accompanied by a nervous laugh, “Sounds good.”

 

            “Hmm…”

 

 

* * *

 

     

 

       It’s a really good thing that the band literally has nothing to do, because while the last two concerts were canceled, they were already at the last foot of a huge European tour, which though having left them exhausted -“I know I don’t show it, but I thought my vocal cords had died and started to rot for a while there”- gave them a lot of free time and holiday money. Brian learns that John continues his tradition of taking long holidays to strange and exotic places to destress, but they are not doing it this time with Veronica so far along. Veronica also tells him that they were already working on their next album which was supposed to keep them busy after the tour was over. It makes sense, especially Brian and Freddie are the type of people to go deep right after a tour, since there is so much to draw inspiration from seeing all these new places and meeting so many new people.

 

Veronica is very motherly, she always was Brian thinks, but it has become more apparent after actually becoming a mother, yet she isn’t as overprotective as the others. So when she and John come a bit after the morning shower, bringing the boys with them in a double stroller, she demands that Brian takes her to visit the gardens, a hobby they both share, so they can get some fresh air. Though John fusses a bit, he dares not to say no to her. It’s an unusually sunny day anyway, and Brian has always thought that these days were meant to be cherished.

 

            The kids seem to feel the same because Joshua is sleeping peacefully and Michael toddles along silently, inspecting every flower and bug he comes across. Maybe, he will become a biologist like Roger, Brian thinks, maybe he will even like it. He still doesn’t feel anything towards the kids that he can distinguish from whatever he normally feels around children, though little Mikey definitely seems comfortable around him. Veronica warns him to be calm and quiet as Uncle Bri is ill, and the poor concerned child actually listens to his mom and only whispers to Brian, tugging on his long sleeve whenever he wants to show him a particular colored leaf or a pretty flower or a long worm.

 

            Veronica was right he feels much more… alive, now that he has some proper oxygen in his system. And truly, whatever anger or resentment or fear he has for his situation, what he should be feeling is grateful. He knows his friends feel the same, he is lucky to be alive and here, not having lost any motor skills or emotional control or whatever you might possibly lose due to brain damage. He has his friends, his band around him, his parents have called earlier so they are still alive, and he assumes that they are healthy enough. He gets to spend time with these kids who are so innocent and bright and getting to know the world around them for the first time.

 

            It’s a blessing, maybe he should stop acting like he is taking it for granted. He hasn’t lost that much. The Queen setlist he can figure out eventually with the help of the others, he has already done it once. He can go on stage and continue writing and producing and recording even if he never truly gains back the memories. He is sure that Freddie will narrate them to him in great detail if asked, and the rest he can fill in slowly, content to leave the bad moments out and treat this as a second chance.

 

            The next time Michael tugs on his shirt to show him something, a spider this time with big yellow legs, Brian takes his chubby little hand in his. The child turns to him with a bright smile, a couple of baby teeth showing, Brian smiles back.

 

            “Do you like him, uncle Bri?”

 

            “Thanks for making me feel better Mikey, that’s indeed a beautiful spider.”

 

            Veronica smiles at them, fixing the blanket over the baby absentmindedly.

 

            “You and Roger have always been exceptionally close with him. Well, he did spend more time with you in those early days I suppose…” There is a fond, carefree smile on her face mentioning this, that he and Roger have babysat a lot, possibly together. “You were so sure that he was going to be a girl that you bought a whole set of pink newborn clothes, people thought he was a different baby whenever he was with you! Well, hopefully we’ll get to use them properly with this one…”

 

            Veronica is still telling him something and Michael is leaning on his leg a bit but suddenly he can’t concentrate on anything. His head is buzzing, his vision is getting increasingly fuzzier and he feels like he can’t breathe.

 

            There is a flash and then he sees it like it’s just happening before his eyes, Roger smiling to the camera with Michael in his arms, a pink ribbon in his hair. Brian leans down to kiss the baby’s forehead then… kisses Roger’s as well. Can any of it be true? Is his poor brain making it all up? The last thing he sees is the paparazzi hidden behind his huge camera and then collapses from the pain.

                                                            

 

* * *

 

 

 

            “I’ve been called to duty.”

 

            The lilting laughter brightens up the room considerably, it even helps with Brian’s migraine a bit as he doesn’t moan and wish for the voice to go away. Roger had spent the last couple of hours completely silent by his side as Brian tried to sleep through the pain but failed horribly. He wasn’t allowed any more painkillers or visitors really but still, Roger had stayed, promising to be as silent as a statue. Brian knew how hard it was for him to sit still and silent, this man who made up beats for a living and used every stick like object and surface as his drum set. Roger practiced with pencils, forks, chopsticks, and even matches as long as he found a horizontal surface and sometimes even the lack of that didn’t seem to stop him. Brian has seen him drum on the door of the subway cart once and getting good money for it too so they could pay for lunch. Roger was like that when Brian had first met him, he was like that as a baby, his fingers must be itching to touch and feel and make music out of everything.

 

            Roger is like him that way, he can feel the music breathe all around him, its existence swallowing them whole once they let it, they are but instruments in making the sound audible. It warmed Brian’s heart that Roger stayed still and quiet for him but all he could do was moan and shout, making the blond man looking more and more dejected every time Brian opened his eyes and his brain refused to distinguish his blond hair and pale face from the fluorescent lighting Brian had screamed at him to turn off.

 

            Roger had looked quite taken aback but had done what Brian asked and continued to sit by his bedside, one hand eventually going Brian’s back and Brian had muffled an inaudible “Sorry” to the pillow. He must have passed out around that time because he didn’t remember what happened after.

 

            Roger is not in the room any longer instead, he is looking at another mop of blond hair that had made his heart beat fast once, albeit for a very short time once Brian had realized that only having blonde hair wasn’t nearly enough to make him fall for someone else. If anything, it had reminded him more of...

 

            “Mary!”

 

            “Oh, you sound like yourself again. Roger warned me before I came in.”

 

            “Beware the rude monster under the duvet?”

 

            Mary offers him a sympathetic smile, no wonder, she is well equipped to deal with weird quirks and dramatic moaning, having lived with Freddie for years and survived mentally intact.

 

            “Oh, sweetie of course not, he was just upset that he saw you in so much pain and couldn’t do anything. He is really frustrated.”

 

            “It’s not his fault.”

 

            “Yes, he knows that. It’s just... harder for him than the others I suppose.”

 

            “Why?”

 

            Mary smiles, dropping her bag on the table and effectively dropping the subject.

 

            “The boys are at a press conference. Dealing with the rumors that you are dead, and Freddie is about the star in a burlesque club in all places. Though that might be good for him actually...”

 

            Mary looks just as beautiful as the day Brian first asked her out in college before Freddie saw her and fell at first glance and begged Brian to introduce them. Freddie seems content with his boyfriend? partner? now but it’s lovely to see that their friendship has lasted through their break up. Her hair is a bit shorter now and she has bangs, maybe a tone or so darker than how Roger prefers it but pretty close to Roger’s original hair color as well.

 

            “So, I take it that you are feeling a bit better?”

 

            “Well, it doesn’t feel like Roger is trying to break my head in with his favorite gong anymore… which I count as a huge improvement.”

 

            Mary’s ears perk up like a cat at the mention of the gong, but otherwise, she remains the same, fixing the few things that people have left around the room and watering the one idle plant someone has sent as a get well soon gift. Now that he looks at the poor boring green thing, it was probably sent by their lawyer.

 

            “How have you been Mary?”

 

            It is a loaded question to ask when the one who wants to know is missing about half a decade of their acquaintance. But Mary has always been intuitive.

 

            “Quite good actually. Freddie is still my best friend if that’s what you’re wondering. It was hard for a while, but we have come to the understanding that we wouldn’t be able to live without having each other in our lives. We are both happier this way.”

 

            There is some sadness behind her sweet smile, “I brought you some notes actually. Freddie wasn’t sure but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

 

            “This was in the dressing room you know...before. I cleaned up when the guys went with you since Jim was too busy and you guys wouldn’t let the roadies touch the personal stuff.”

 

            There, on a paper that has some sort of a replica of the royal stamp – why is not Brian surprised – in his own hand, writes:

 

  _Touch me now_

_Let us share the words of love_

_For evermore_

           

            Brian looks at the words, then back up to Mary’s blond locks.

 

            Shit.

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s a good thing that they are considerably very rich now because if he couldn’t afford this room, he would feel very crowded right now. They are all having dinner together, the table by the window pulled all the way to Brian’s bed so four can sit on that side. Brian is in proper clothing for once, though it’s sweater and sweatpants and it doesn’t quite hurt to sit straight anymore. He still has a bit of a migraine still, but they have all agreed that they would be as quiet as possible while munching on the vegetarian lasagna Veronica has brought from home.

 

            “I’m not sure if it’s any good Brian, we always seen to meet at yours-“ she blanches for a moment there but continues at a much quicker pace “-or outside, you boys can’t really goof around with the babies sleeping upstairs you know. You definitely should come to dinner more from now on so I can learn how you like your spices and such.”

 

            “You don’t need to tire yourself for me Vee, this is absolutely delicious.”

 

            It is normal for them to not meet at John’s often, not when he is trying to juggle touring with them and two kids under the age of four. But Veronica had said that they met at his place, not Freddie’s or Roger’s...

 

            Mary’s eyes are on his from across the room. Her body language is comfortable as she passes Freddie some salad and as she gives some to Jim as well. The last time Brian saw Mary and Freddie together, they had been a couple for a long time. She even had a ring on her finger, that finger is empty now he notes, though she is wearing various other rings. Brian touches his own ring finger absentmindedly, is it normal that he feels like he is missing something?  Freddie and Jim’s hands are just as jewelry free as his and Roger seems to be wearing even more than Mary does. It’s a bit unusual for him, at least in day to day life but Roger has always loved pretty things and got to use them so rarely even after he could get them because a drummer wearing so many sharp objects was simply inviting trouble in from the front door.

 

            Mary snuggles a bit closer to Freddie to give Brian some more room to put his arms on the table properly and not hurt his ribs any more than necessary.  Freddie, in turn, climbs half up in Jim’s lap, all three perfectly comfortable.

 

 

            Roger reaches for the salt shaker, his hand touches Brian’s hand he takes it back in a flash as if he got burnt.

 

            “Here you go Rog,” says Brian, handing him the salt.

 

            Roger bites his lip again, there is some sauce on the corner of it.

 

            Brian wants.

 

            Roger takes the shaker from him, three fingers covered in rings that must have cost as much as a car. His ring finger is empty.

 

            “Thanks.”

 

            “Brian let us tell you about that one time in Osaka…”

 

* * *

 

 

 

That night he dreams of Roger. It is as disturbing as it gets really. What is supposed to be something natural and beautiful, becomes something ugly and to be ashamed about when it is artificial like this. Their whole lives they have made artifacts, bending the reality in any which way they wanted to. Sometimes that yielded to hit songs they loved, sometimes something they deeply cared about turned out to be something that wasn’t wanted, sometimes something they had discovered by accident actually hit the jackpot. This is what they do, they imagine the beauty in the universe, reach up to the stars and try to catch the visage of some sort of truth in there. Perhaps the others don’t see it quite as astronomical as Brian does and Freddie might have a whole another metaphor for it but for Brian creating a song is no different than looking up to the stars and imagining what might be going on there. And Brian shouldn’t be afraid or ashamed of his imagination, he has never felt the need to run away from his own creativity before. The very concept of being disgusted by his subconscious is nauseating.

 

And if he is being honest with himself, it’s not like he is having thing kind of a dream for the first time, or the fifth. In fact, for a while, this had been a biweekly occurrence at least, especially after he had found out how high Roger’s voice could go when singing falsetto.

 

            So yes, he has had wet dreams about his friend and managed to look him straight in the eye, play together and harmonize well the next day. Is it because this, for the lack of a better word, new body of his is so different that he is having this sort of a reaction? Dry heaving and trying to catch his breath because of an erection caused by Roger? But he doesn’t feel different, it’s not like he has astral projected himself into a new body, of course, he shouldn’t feel different other than the aches and pains of the accident and the longer hair and some sort of muscle he has finally managed to attain but is probably currently losing as he lies here?

            It’s just that... he thinks at least... that it has never felt this real or explicit before. A fantasy was a fantasy, some ideal other Roger who was in the moment with him. Always vouge in some ways and enhanced in others. Now it feels like he knows every nook and cranny of Roger’s body, from that two dots on his back to the old scar on his calf and it simply can’t be true. His body thinks that it knows what it feels like to be inside Roger for God sake. It’s just so so wrong...

 

            Isn’t it?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for the late upload, I was supposed to finish this on Monday but I had a slight eye injury - my eye is ok, but my eyelid is a bit burned lol- and then I was too busy over the weekend. Thank you so much for the reviews, we are slowly wrapping up now :)

 

 

            “Frankly dear, I think you are being a tad ridiculous,” says Freddie, who is looking a bit silly himself holding one fluffy cat in fluffy looking bathrobe and underpants.  

 

            “This was your fucking idea!”

 

            Roger bangs his head on the table, blond hair all over the place. Eyes red from lack of sleep or tears or excessive alcohol consumption.

 

            “Well, I thought you wouldn’t be able to tell the truth without fainting or puking on him! Excuse me for thinking about your wellbeing first.”

 

            Mary looks at them from the table. A pot of tea has been brewing for seven minutes in front of her, for seven minutes she has been listening to this conversation and watching Roger’s silent panicking over the idea of revealing the truth.

 

            She had dropped by Freddie and Jim’s place… this huge house that Freddie had spent years telling her about but wasn’t able to offer to her. Granted she lives just next door because of him, but looking at what could have been, what was never meant to be, hurts sometimes. Freddie’s house is still haunted by a stray paparazzi or two, some fangirls who refuse to give up, but none can see inside from the outer walls. Given how angry they had been with the paparazzi in the hospital gardens during the press conference, she thinks even those who enjoy dragging Queen’s name in the mud have backed off some. Not only they had scared Brian into a full set migraine attack; but it had also affected the children, something they all had promised never to let it happen, no matter the circumstances.

 

            Half an hour ago she had stopped by on her way to work to ask their plans for the day and if she could be of any help. The plan was to say hi from the door, but she stayed when Jim convinced her for a delicious looking breakfast and a promise to drive her on his way to the shop. Roger was finally allowed to drive it seemed, now that he didn’t look or act so manic anymore.

 

            Mary wasn’t sure she would agree with that assessment.

 

            “ _I think he might be remembering some stuff,”_ she had told them. Freddie had hummed, sitting down so close that their thighs touched, one arm going behind her back. “He hasn’t given any indication of doing so.”

 

            “He was just acting a bit off, during dinner. Maybe it’s nothing. I don’t know.”

 

            It’s just a hunch that she has, that Brian isn’t letting them all the way in. Obviously, whatever he is going through is very traumatizing and enough to make him anxious and ell, not like himself. But Mary has caught some weird looks during the dinner, directed at Roger who did his best not to have any eye contact whatsoever and kept himself busy by asking Veronica questions about the kids.

 

            Mary thinks that Brian has been in love with Roger for a stupidly long time anyway, so it’s not very weird to see his eyes follow him around, but Brian had been looking like he had been trying to place something. Freddie looks at her, eyes carefully searching hers in a way that he has perfected over the years, looking deep into her soul and seeing everything there. Sometimes it feels like they are parts of a single soul, nothing kept hidden from each other even if they wanted to, even though they are no longer a couple. This intimacy is comforting in its own way, though it always stings a bit whenever Freddie can complete a train of thought she hasn’t even begun to formulate properly. Freddie keeps the eye contact for long enough to be considered a bit creepy before breaking it, trying to hypnotize Roger with his gaze this time.

 

            “But we both agree that Roger should tell Brian about them, don’t we?”

 

            Mary turns to Roger, “Didn’t he always say he was in love with you for years before you ever looked his way?”

 

            Roger blushes, looking unsure of himself. That’s never a good look on pretty people.

 

            “He might have been just jesting… and I have loved him longer!”

 

            “You were both stupidly head over heels and in total denial about each other’s feelings the whole time, total morons! Just tell him Roggie, I’m sure he’ll fall on his knees with gratitude at the notion of finally having you all for himself.”

 

            Roger is playing with the bracelet on his wrist, one that he hasn’t taken of since Freddie stupidly made him take off his ring to start this whole charade. Mary agrees that neither Brian nor Roger were ready to have that conversation when Brian first woke up but seriously it would have saved all of them so much trouble.

 

            “He was the catch, not me.”

 

            Freddie lets out an exasperated sigh.

 

            “Idiot, I’m telling you Mary, I have no idea how I manage to work with these guys sometimes… I’m getting early greys and wrinkles just to sort out their daily messes.”

 

            “Oh, stop it Freddie! It’s not like you are any better. The ring thing turned out to be a horrible idea. Where is Brian’s anyway?”

 

            “It was in this plastic bag, with his pants and shoes. I snagged it before they gave it to him. Charming the pants off the guy at the reception table helped…”

 

            Jim coughs from the next room.

 

            “Nothing happened, baby! Anywho, I gave it to Roger before dinner.”

 

            Roger lifts the long chain from inside his red and white shirt, there are now two rings on it.

 

            “Well, he is going to be discharged soon. What are you going to do, buy two single beds and convince him that you guys are living together in your 30s? Go rent another flat for some extravagant plot?” Mary looks up, the chances of drinking something before she has to go look very unfavorable right now, she gets her bag from the table. “Honestly guy, I love you all but be reasonable.”

 

            She gets up to join Jim, who is gathering his stuff from the coat rack near the door, two cats curiously watching him. She turns to look at Roger and Freddie, who are locked in a silent battle of fierce gazes, “Tell him.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Mary is right, the doctors think that Brian can be discharged within the next three days. The swelling in his head seems to have gone down significantly and the bandages for the much prettier looking stitches underneath have gotten noticeably smaller today. Freddie and Roger were supposed to be dealing with the financial fallout of the canceled concerts, and seriously thank God for insurance, or meeting with Miami or one of the representatives of the dozens of news outlets who are begging them for a quote, but they are holed up in Brian’s hospital room again.

 

            Brian seems to be quite bored already, though he is doing his best not to look so frustrated. Roger brought him some books from home, though he confesses he doesn’t have the slightest clue what they are about, even though the shelves in his home are full of them. He does keep an interesting one or two about the profession he swears he will never go back to because not all his coursework at school sucked, but Brian genuinely wants to keep up and continue with his studies one day. Maybe even get that Ph.D. he gave up on when the international tours became a more regular occurrence. So, it’s not a surprise that their study and the shelves in the living room are full of scientific articles and textbooks, as well as novels and sheet music.  

 

            “I don’t know if these will make any sense to you…” he mumbles, dumping three thick volumes on the newly changed sheets. The radio is playing in the background, something slow and calming and decidedly not rock so as not to agitate Brian. In Roger’s opinion, a Brian who is not listening to rock is pretty agitating. Not that they don’t listen to other genres but while they have started dabbling in many of them, he and Brian have always gravitated towards the heavier stuff. This Brian whose blood hasn’t quite cooled yet should be even more passionate about the particular stuff he prefers to listen. Yet, he can’t exactly go to the doctors and tell them listening to metal music or hard rock is going to make a head injury get better.

 

            Brian gives him a warm smile, long fingers ghosting over the gold letter titles on the dark blue books, gentle and full of wonder at the same time. Roger thought they have reached a comfortable level of intimacy years ago and the random touches and looks and sounds didn’t affect him anymore. He was comfortable in love, that was the thing. It was Brian who had lost that, not him… so why did everything feel so new and tender? He felt like his heart would burst with every smile, every touch even if they weren’t meant for him. And how could they be meant for him anyway, when Brian didn’t know?

 

            “You are still working on some stuff… but sorry none of us can understand.”

 

            “Thank you for this, Rog. Really.”

 

            Brian opens one of the covers tentatively, the joy and the excitement of simply having this little thing in his life so apparent on his face that Roger has to look away.

           

* * *

 

 

 

            “So, you are going home soon!”

 

            Freddie lies down sideways at the foot of the bed, there is a plastic spoon in his mouth as he was busy eating Brian’s jelly as Brian was reading and Brian is really grateful they are in a hospital because if he swallowed it from lying down with his head down like that, there was no way they could save their vocalist from drowning in banana flavored goo.

 

            Freddie settles down good and ready like a cat trying to make himself a nice comfortable place to sleep, perhaps he is hoping to take a quick afternoon nap. It can’t be that comfortable though since he is practically lying on top of Brian’s legs, which are already a bit too long to lie down comfortably in this bed by himself. Brian checks the page number then closes the book, gathering his legs under Freddie’s heavy bodyweight so he plops down and finally gets the spoon out of his mouth.

 

            Roger is randomly playing some tunes on the guitar, has been doing that for about an hour now he thinks, ever since he told them that if he listened to another minute of classical, he will drop dead there just like that. Personally, Brian thinks what he is playing sounds more like a lullaby himself, but nonetheless, it’s beautiful and comforting and so very Roger

 

            “Yeah, though funny enough I don’t know what that looks like at all.”

 

            “It’s- “Freddie looks at Roger for a split second, “-very you. You’ll see.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                        Jim swings Michael over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and turns in circles around the cozy looking living room, the toddler first giggling then laughing uncontrollably. John is busy with the baby upstairs to worry about him falling down upon his head, so he does that until little Mikey is positively dizzy and begging between laughter-induced tears to be let down.

 

            “So, do we start moving Roger’s stuff to your place?” asks Veronica, mouth full of biscuits Mary and Jim brought for tea. Since he drove her in the morning, Jim had thought it would be nice to drive her back as well, but Freddie and Roger were running late for dinner and it didn’t feel comfortable enough to eat dinner just two of them yet, no matter how much Jim hoped to reach to that level of friendship with the most important person in his boyfriend’s life. So, they had grabbed some stuff from the market near the place Mary worked and went to visit the Deacons. Jim thinks that they used to be a lot more closer in the college and before he had come into the picture when everybody had more time. Obviously, the main four still spend a lot of time together, they work together after all, but they haven’t had much time lately to just hang around. It must be something Mary misses, he supposes, and something he thinks he would greatly enjoy if he was given the chance. This accident at least gave them the opportunity to see that, see just how important these people to each other, without the responsibility and the acclaim of Queen, just as friends who deeply care.

 

            It also makes Jim realize that he has been included in this precious circle, that these people see him as one of them, not just as Freddie’s guy who hangs around the studio and the concerts. It’s a privileged position, not because he gets to hang around with world-famous musicians but because they are all wonderful people, even and if he has to admit especially Roger, who is going through something that gives him unimaginable pain. He doesn’t see much eye to eye with Roger, probably because Roger is always so protective of Freddie and thought Jim as another fling trying to latch on to him when they first met and because the only proper close encounters they had before were handshakes, half-assed hugs, and Jim trying to snatch Freddie of him whenever the two got into a particularly physical argument that surprised and bothered no one but Jim in the room. Living in the same house for the last couple of days has given Jim an insight to him that he wishes he didn’t have because no amount of closeness should be worth this much of personal suffering, but Jim understands and appreciates him better now.

 

            “No, I have faith in him yet.”

 

            His recent… hesitation aside, which was mostly brought on by them as a precaution, Roger has always been the fierce, if not the reckless one. Jim knows how he fights with tooth and nails for each song, no matter how risky it might be to put it in an album. He almost never goes around with a bodyguard during the tours, is always ready to mingle with the crowd which Freddie does a lot on stage, but Jim knows he doesn’t really like once he lets the stage clothes and makeup go. Jim trusts Roger, and well if he can’t man up and do it himself, he is sure Brian will figure it all out soon enough and knock some much-needed sense into him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            With Brian getting released the day after, Freddie reckons that they are in a bit of a tight schedule to tell him the truth or execute a contrived and unreasonable and batshit crazy plot to buy Brian a new house with the tour money, decorate and bring all his stuff in. When he tells this to Jim, Jim curses into his pillow and tells Freddie to go back to sleep without bothering to lift his head up and look Freddie in the eye, which is very rude but perhaps it’s not the best time to ask your boyfriend to start looking for rentals around London at 4 am.  Freddie doesn’t think that Roger actually wants to break his own home apart, but he has been acting uncharacteristically cowardly the last couple of days, kind of making Freddie regret the decision to coddle him up so much. Perhaps he should have slapped him until he gained his senses back at the beginning, a beaten-up Roger in the newspaper would make bad press but it would give Freddie less of a headache for sure.

 

            He loves drama and draws inspiration from it like a dying succubus but honestly, he is starting to get fed up with this.

 

“I thought, we can play you some of our new, well newish stuff today. Get things started… I’ll sing and Roger can play them, can’t you Roger?”

 

Roger shoots him a mean look but goes to gather his acoustic from where it stands resting against the small wardrobe in the hospital room. It has been in Brian’s keeping for the last couple of days, Freddie likens it to a dreamcatcher almost, something that Roger would have by Brian’s side as he is sleeping be at home or here. Roger has played it here as much as Brian, unable to let the instrument go. In a way, he supposes, it is the only visible object of their life together, here, in this room. Even if Brian doesn’t realize it, Roger can see it and hold on to it.

 

“This is the song that shot us to stardom, darling. We call it the _Bohemian Rhapsody.”_

            Roger is obviously a bit more stilled than Brian on the guitar, at least on this song which he wasn’t even supposed to know the chords of anyway. But Roger has an amazing audial memory and Freddie can make wonders of almost anything decent sounding, so if he says so himself, it’s a hell of a good acoustic cover.

 

            When the song ends, they can hear some claps from the corridor, where some nurses and patients were listening. So much for privacy.

 

            But Brian seems deep in thought, mesmerized but confused. It’s actually a pretty close imitation of the face he made the first time Freddie sang this for him. He and Roger watch him as the seconds tick by, and Freddie thinks it must have been at least three minutes before Brian speaks.

 

            He sings some chords, “- it needs a guitar solo there”.

 

            Freddie laughs, “Yes, yes it does indeed. But no worries dearie, I think we’ll be OK, since you already wrote us one.”

 

            They go through the album like this, with little comments from Brian which are sometimes the same and sometimes differ vastly from the arrangement the group had finally decided upon. Freddie is not sure if these were indeed his original ideas, that eventually got refuted in the process or this Brian who didn’t live through the same things has a different point of view for some of the other stuff.

 

            About 20 minutes in, there is a knock on the door.

 

            It’s Miami, who looks worse for wear than Brian does. He has spent a very busy couple of days, doing his best not to disturb them. Freddie thinks that any other producer would have thrown them under the bus, spinning whatever story and forcing them to have tv appearances and making them do interviews to gain the maximum publicity for this. Miami, on the other hand, does his absolute best to protect them, Freddie has seen how wrecked he looked after he heard Brian had collapsed in the garden, blaming himself for the lack of security.

 

            “Hi, guys!”

 

            “Hi, Jim!” Brian says, Roger offers a salute from the chair he is sitting on, the guitar on his lap.

 

            “I’m so glad you’re doing better Brian, but I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry. Fred, a moment please-“

 

            Freddie gets up, getting his jacket and a pack of cigarettes, might as well talk in the said garden and take a break. He turns to the boys sitting adorably and obnoxiously close at the same time.

 

            “I’m taking a break, boys. Rog? You can show him ’39, yeah? Bet he will love it!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            When Freddie leaves the room, the ease Brian felt with the songs ebbs away. There is this tension in the air that makes him a bit nauseous and turning to his right, he realizes just how close Roger was sitting for him to be able to follow his hands on the guitar.

 

            And Brian had done that, instinctively, matching the images with the sounds and even figuring out the little kinks here and there as Roger was used to playing these songs on a completely different instrument. Now that the songs have stopped, looking at Roger’s hand feels weird again. The heavy, golden bracelet is still there and really, it can’t be comfortable to play the guitar with it no matter how much Roger loves his jewelry.

 

            Now that he has focused on the offending item, it is really impossible to look anywhere else, much less Roger’s face because Brian already feels uncomfortable and ashamed at the notion of being unable to control his desire for a close friend who would surely be shocked to find out Brian’s body is having uncontrollable reactions for his eyes and the kind smile he supports playing the melodies Brian has written for the band.

 

            “Umm, so… this song is called ’39, for no other reason than the fact that you liked that year, I guess? But it’s basically your baby,” Roger laughs, its such a beautiful sound that it twists Brian’s insides, he is stuck between asking Roger to _please, stop_ and _please please sing this for me so I can hear your voice again, right now, “_ the lyrics are a bit complicated, so sorry for any mistakes in advance, I’m not Freddie.”

 

_No, you’re not. You are the most beautiful sight ever seen and the most beautiful sound…_

Roger starts playing and humming high notes at the same time. The melody is country? It’s weird but it brings a smile to Brian’s face without not really knowing why. Soon he starts laughing and Roger laughs with him because the song is about the geekiest thing and Brian has always wanted to write something like this.

 

            Roger continues with the high notes in the chorus, his face looks angelic and unreal whenever he actually sings that high, though he isn’t really putting any power into it for this for one cover of the song, Brian feels like he can hear Roger, on a stage somewhere, with a tambourine in his hand.

 

            He would sing, looking completely blissed out because of a melody that Brian has written and brought to life, shirt open, sweat dripping down his neck…

 

            Brian shakes himself, cheeks red with fire. He tries to focus on Roger’s hand, focus on the chords and the voice and not how Roger looks, how Roger has looked because it’s just… too much. Roger’s hands are covered in scabs, as they always are after long gigs or particularly stressful days, contrasting the expensive jewelry and his long slim looking fingers. No matter how much Brian looks at the bracelet, something just feels so wrong about it. And the fingers, the fingers which are playing Brian’s own notes on Brian’s own guitar…

 

_Don't you hear my call though you're many years away_

_Don't you hear me calling you_

_All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand-_

            Brian looks up, the gut-twisting, nauseating feeling whenever he looks at Roger’s long fingers -and no, it’s not because of the dreams about those fingers on and in his body, not really, not truly at least- suddenly reaching to a bursting point.

 

            It’s as if a balloon of hallucinogenics has popped, and suddenly Brian has oxygen again.

 

            “Roger, where is your ring?”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, guys! I've been very angsty and you've suffered through it with me and I'm sorry because I was always aiming for something light-hearted, fluffy and only a little heart breaking. 
> 
> Random song recommendation that I kept listening as I wrote the Maylor scenes in here: As Long As You're Mine from Wicked (Ledisi and Adam Lambert cover is perfection). 
> 
> Also, I don't know... I want to write about them but I'm just so in love with using Freddie or Jim to actually tell the story. I don't know if you've liked them or if they just in the way. 
> 
> Anyway... I'm actually writing a one-shot at the moment, so hopefully, I will see you soon :)

To be honest, Roger is somewhere in Japan. He has no idea when Freddie decided he was over supporting him and passed to the stage of blackmailing him mercilessly but here they are, and the moment he starts this song he feels like he is transported back there, to a concert with too many shots of sake and sloppy kisses stolen in the backstage. His shirt torn open in the front during the break between the sets by Brian’s impatience, hair all over the place because Brian’s fingers got tangled in the sweaty mess of it as they kissed and kissed and kissed… He can’t even get the high note out because of how out of breath he feels, blood pumping through his veins, body aching to be just one step near even though they are mid-song, mid-set and there is no gratification on the horizon.

 

 “Roger?” Brian enquires hesitantly, cutting Roger’s thoughts with a knife. The illusion of the dark stadium and the thousands around them shatters, the reliable thump of the bass leaves its place to his very own erratic heartbeat and the only beat in the room is the one he is holding with his feet by pure instinct as he plays the guitar. When Roger looks up, there seems to be a weird, uncomfortable smile on Brian’s face.

 

His hair is somewhat held back by one of Roger’s hair ties, there is still some tomato sauce on the corner of his mouth from their lunch earlier that Roger has been itching to kiss off ever since he realized. His eyes are firmly fixed on Roger’s left hand, fingers on the chords; he is watching the song.

 

_“Where is your ring?”_

 

            Roger stops, sudden, hard. One finger pressing on the string so tightly that it starts bleeding. Brian quickly takes a tissue from the nightstand, then looking at the blood drop forming on his hand, carefully takes Roger’s hand in his.

 

            Roger feels like he can’t breathe.

 

            It’s not excitement or arousal; it’s the same dread and terror that has gripped him tight and refused to let go ever since this nightmare started and Brian laid there on the floor, unmoving, covered in red red blood.  

 

            What does this mean?

 

            Does he… remember?

 

            Brian’s fingers caress over his, looking for something that is supposed to be there. Roger can feel blunt nails on his skin, making goosebumps appear all the way up on his arms for mixed reasons.

 

            “Brian, do you- “Roger gulps, his throat dry, “do you remember something?”

 

            Brian looks at him, carefully, patiently and in every which way that drives Roger crazy. As if Roger is some problem he is trying to solve or an experiment that is at the brink of a grand revelation. Maybe, in this case, it’s true. But even with the good intentions and the bright-eyed innocent curiosity, it makes Roger want to scream.

 

            “I’m not sure…” he says eventually, voice questioning. Brian can’t stand not knowing but fears the answers of all the big questions in life. Roger knows how hard that is to deal for him, how depressed he can get. But he can’t help him now, in fact, at this moment, it’s Roger who feels completely helpless.  Perhaps it’s this helplessness that Brian sees in his eyes, and that’s what makes it finally click for him. That Roger is just as affected, just as desperate for some sort of clarification, “is this something I should be remembering?”

 

            One of his hands come up to cup Roger’s cheek. Roger let’s out a teary laugh or maybe it’s a whimper.

 

            “Yes, yes, it is.”

 

            Brian smiles then, still leaning in, hand still on Roger’s cheek, not trying to wipe away the tears but simply there, a solid reflection of the affection shared between them. Brian acknowledging the truth that is their relationship.

 

            “Oh, thank God.”

 

            Roger laughs, as if it’s not him but Brian who was expecting for a shift in the air, a change in the tides, something anything and desperately hating himself for wanting more, always more, not content enough with the huge miracle of having his significant other still by his side, breathing, heart beating and so very alive.

 

            Brian leans in a bit more and then a bit more and then he is so close that Roger can breathe his breath and then their lips mesh together. It’s teary, snotty, disgusting and suddenly everything feels alright again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            It’s quite the dream really, but Brian has no intentions of questioning it whatsoever. Perhaps in a minute or two, he will wake up to an empty hospital room, where he will still have his friends and band around him. That too will be perfectly fine in his book.

 

 But for now, as long as he is allowed to be in this perfect reality, Brian can’t and won’t ask why or how. Roger is smiling at him, lips caught under his teeth once again, cheeks stained red with tear tracks. His hair is messy, he looks tired and he is absolutely the most breathtaking sight Brian has ever seen in his life with or without the memories he is still missing.

 

Brin can taste him on his own skin.

 

            He was unsure really, still is, of this image of Roger in his head that belonged to him. Not that you can own a person, but there was just something so soul deep right about those well, memories he supposes though he will have to gather the courage and actually ask Roger, that just it didn’t sit right with him to see them as simple dreams. And Brian has always been silent and reasonable, but he has never been one to sit idly and wait for something when he knew that it needed to be done.

 

            He feels out of breath but at the same time, it’s like that one kiss has breathed life back inside of him.

 

            “Come here.”

 

            Roger stumbles on to the bed to sit next to him, one knee curled up so he can come as close as humanly possible without touching Brian. Brian looks at him all over, hand going to his hair, his cheeks, his eyes, his nose, his mouth that opens a bit without Roger even noticing as he is so busy trying to stare straight into Brian’s soul. Brian’s fingers move to his chin, his neck following a prominent vein there which makes Roger shiver and turn his head a bit as if he is giving permission for Brian to do this.

 

            Roger’s skin is soft under his fingers, like silk over his collarbones. Brian pulls on the chain he finds there, two golden bands sit there right over Roger’s heart, warm to touch because of constant contact with skin.

 

            He helps Roger get it off and then gingerly helps put Roger’s ring back on. Yes, that feels right, that’s supposed to be there. Brian can’t remember how or when he put it there, except that it was him who proposed which he is absolutely sure about. Then Roger puts the other on Brian, like he is branding him, like he is staking a claim.

 

            Brian should be shocked perhaps, but for the first time he has opened his eyes in this hospital room, he feels perfectly calm, perfectly right.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            “And there they were, snogging, not like I could go back in and ruin all the fun…”

 

            Finally, they have taken an early evening, a time out for what feels like the first time since that thrice-damned Wembley concert, no since the European tour started two months ago. Jim feels like he aches all over, even to the bones he didn’t know that existed. And this must be nothing, compared to how Freddie is feeling, exhausting himself all over the continent, giving his all to the audience and then to the band that needed him up and energetic and smiling. It feels good to be just themselves and just… be.

 

            They can finally go visit Freddie’s parents properly, and maybe take a short holiday somewhere where Freddie won’t be recognized or hunted or haunted by bad memories. They can finally sleep in, without the pre-concert anxiety, without Freddie’s innate need to check-in on Roger every two hours, without the fear that Brian won’t be there the next time they open their eyes.

 

            “Hopefully this means we can go back to snogging as well,” he jokes eventually, voice heavy and warm, there is no need to dwell on sad thoughts now. They just need to laugh and sleep and relax.

 

            Freddie is playing with the hairs on his chest, tugging sometimes painfully hard but Jim can’t bring himself to ask him to stop. His head buried in Jim’s armpit, uncaring that they haven’t had a shower yet.  He has a lap full of Freddie in his arms and he will take that in any way he can get and never ever complain.

 

“I was really scared,” Freddie mumbles. Jim pets his hair in slow motions, like the way Delilah likes it.

 

“I know.”

 

Freddie snuggles closer, Jim arranges the duvet carefully over his arms so that he doesn’t wake up because he got cold at night and finally closes his eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            He wakes up because someone is poking him in the arm, quite sharply. He feels warm and relaxed all over, even the sun shining on his face doesn’t bother him the slightest.

 

            The moment he opens his eyes, he sees Veronica holding a finger over her mouth. He blinks a couple of times to make sure it’s really her that he is seeing, then blinks again because he suddenly remembers where exactly he is. He turns to his left a bit and is faced with a sight that he woke up to for years, those unrulable curls that he loves to get his face into even though they make him sneeze.

 

 It’s Brian’s arm that he is using as a pillow and it’s his soft snores that are filling the room.

 

            “So…” Veronica whisper-shouts, excited and happy, “he remembered?”

 

            Considering that he is currently totally melted into Brian’s body, feeling like they are attached from head to toe, Roger thinks it’s his right to be slow to answer, his brain cells refusing to cooperate, his urge to snuggle in even closer unbeatably strong.

 

            “I… some?” he says finally, rubbing his eyes and slowly rising, careful not to wake up Brian in the process by accidentally elbowing his bruised ribs.

 

            “Well, he seems to have gotten the important bits,” John quips.

 

            Roger smiles, looking at Brian who is still snoring peacefully, the color now back in his cheeks.

 

            “Yeah, yeah he does.”

           

 

* * *

 

 

 

            The press interview is arranged to be in the conference room two floors down, Brian is pretty confident he can walk all the way by himself, unassisted. Plus, it’s going to do no one any good if he is wheeled in there, God knows what people will begin to write then. The guys won’t let him read any newspapers, apparently, they are not very liked by the press and there are some really unspeakable stories going around out there. Queen never really got any good reviews in the media though, so he isn’t really missing on anything.

 

Jim, who they are calling Miami now per his own request – Freddie named him that, don’t question it- is shooting looks at Freddie and Roger while they are going down the stairs that are only there for emergency uses. There have been some… problems, after that accident in the garden that triggered Brian’s flashes, and they might have said some unsavory words which the British press didn’t take very kindly. But honestly, Brian is thinking about thanking the paparazzi that followed him there, because he really needed that shock.

 

He doesn’t really remember much, but the flashes come and go, regardless of their importance to the overall narrative of his life. They are mainly about Roger, which he can’t complain about. He really doesn’t think he has the right to complain about anything, because he gets to have this wonderfully perfect life now and has the hope that he will regain it all eventually.

 

            They give him some time to shower by himself, which basically means that while he doesn’t come in, Roger is constantly asking if he is doing ok in there from the door. It must be hard for him, having Brian being shy about being naked in the same room as him, seriously it’s his, and doesn’t it feel hysterically good to say it, husband. But any kind of intimacy they have to reestablish, Brian doesn’t want it to be in a hospital full of bad memories, for him and especially for Roger who spent the last week here, living in a complete nightmare.

 

            Roger also brings him a dress shirt from _home,_ home he says, not your home but just home because of course, they are living together. It’s a bittersweet realization because though Freddie and John talked about their houses, he never asked Roger about it, he didn’t even think about what his own life was like now, too caught up in it all. But Roger didn’t spend the nights here with him, at least not after he woke up and the idea of Roger going _home_ alone feels somehow very unbearable.

 

            “Don’t worry dear, he has been crashing over at ours for the last few days. An absolute nightmare, that’s what he is. I can’t wait for you to take him back.”

 

            Freddie is obviously joking, Brian remembers how much fun they had living and working together, how they even continued to spend time together in the loft Freddie shared with Mary after, Roger staying over many nights.

 

            He also remembers Freddie sleeping on their couch after he broke it off with Mary, Roger gathering up all the blankets they had and insisting they sleep together, as Freddie spent the nights crying on his shoulder while Roger silently held him.

 

            _He remembers._

 

Brian chuckles, he can’t wait either.

           

 

* * *

 

 

 

            The interview goes well, even though he is not allowed to speak. Miami sits next to him and digs his fingers to his thigh whenever he tries to open his mouth. The questions are brief, the reporters briefed properly before they brought Brian into the room. Brian thanks the doctors and the fans for their constant prayers and promises to do his best to get better as quickly as he can so that they don’t have to wait to hear the new album.

 

            Roger doesn’t answer any questions either, but his hand is clasped firmly over Brian’s on the table under the flashes of the camera, undeniable proof of their unity that both seem quite comfortable with.

           

            Later they help Brian to the car and kiss both of them on the cheek, promising not to bother them for a week at least. Freddie winks at them because it finally feels funny again, Roger blushes, Brian coughs and Jim has to drag him away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            The guitar is back where it belongs, on the floor by Roger’s side of the bed, perfectly placed so either Roger or Brian when he reaches over Roger’s warm naked body, can reach when the inspiration decides to visit late at night and wake them up from the arms of sleep.

 

            Brian is playing with Roger’s hair; half sure Roger is silent just because he is making sure Brian’s heart is beating steady under his ear. His eyes are closed but his fingers are moving in indescribable patterns under Brian’s navel, he is humming that song again.

 

“Where did we go for our honeymoon?”

 

Brian thinks he remembers some stuff from that time, none of which give any clue to activities outside the bedroom door. He can feel Roger smiling against his chest, perhaps Brian isn’t missing as much as he thought he did and that’s really all that happened… which is a perfectly lovely and delicious image.

 

“Ah… Japan I suppose? Beginning of our Asian tour, we went a bit early…” and _didn’t get out of the hotel room until Freddie finally found the courage to get an extra key from the concierge and dragged them away to the stage_ part goes unsaid.

 

“Let’s do it again,” Brian says, hand inching up on Roger’s bare leg, perfectly content as he is now. Roger raises his head up and looks at him with sleepy, baby blue eyes.

 

“What?”

 

Brian smiles at him, wiping a stray hair away from his face.

 

            “Another honeymoon.”

 

           

Roger laughs, nodding an affirmative. He drops back down and presses a kiss on Brian’s chest before settling in properly to sleep. Brian has all the faith that he will remember everything eventually, but even if he doesn’t, he will be perfectly content creating new memories with him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *title from e.e. cummings  
> *song at the beginning is of course, as you know '39.


End file.
